<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>5ish Times Gerry Saved Michael from an Entity and One Time He Didn't by folkgirlhero</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854942">5ish Times Gerry Saved Michael from an Entity and One Time He Didn't</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkgirlhero/pseuds/folkgirlhero'>folkgirlhero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Archival Assistant Redux [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nobody Dies, Trans Gerard Keay, a healthy mixture of both really, background Agnes/Gertrude, background Agnes/Jude, background Elias/Peter, mostly plot with a dash of porn, plus some spicy kissing, relationship troubles and light trauma processing, well nobody but an unnamed OC gertrude's gotta stop that ritual somehow folks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:46:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkgirlhero/pseuds/folkgirlhero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of danger, adventure, getting a boyfriend, and figuring out what to do once you've got one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerard Keay &amp; Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Sasha James &amp; Michael Shelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Archival Assistant Redux [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The last thing is not what you think it will be. That’s what we in the industry call a bait and switch. I think. I am not actually in any industry. This story has a happy ending :)<br/>Blah blah timeline disclaimer blah: it’s the late-aughts and they are both in their mid-20s, I do not care about anything, time is meaningless, this includes all statement references and whenever tf Agnes died.<br/>Mary Keay? But I barely know her! (Neither she, nor her creepy book ghost, is around during these events, bitch bye) </p><p>CW: Mentions of Mary Keay’s A+ Parenting, anxiety and panic attacks, canon-typical monsters, canon-typical Desolation damage (let me know if I missed anything!)</p><p>Also, my roommate said I should add the writing playlist I listened to while working on this, so here! *shoves hastily-made anonymous Spotify at you* https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3saw06kHFnl2e3QB8hm0SJ</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Michael hides in a bush and reads a sad book.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every morning, Michael Shelley swept his straw blonde curls into a bun at the top of his head, took the train three stops to his favorite bakery, bought a cinnamon roll and a dark roast coffee from either the nice barista with the German Shepherd (Alice) or the not-nice one with the septum piercing (Donna), and walked the remaining 8 blocks to the Magnus Institute. He liked his routine; it was… orderly. He liked his job, too, and he thought he was actually pretty good at it. He had always liked school and had actually gone to university two years early. Once there, he liked research best and the classmates he was friendly with used to ask him to help them look up this or that obscure text or reference, which he was always happy to do. Only once did he fail to find what a friend wanted, and then he felt so bad that he bought them a curry to say sorry. </p><p>Things were trickier at the Institute, though. For one thing, it was very disorganized. He would sometimes get motivated to whip things into shape, and stay late every day for several weeks in a row, pulling files, attempting to design some sort of organizational system, marking up statements… but it always came to nothing, as though the Archives themselves were rejecting his attempts to tame them. That was disappointing; organization was another skill he had pride in. But it was a place infused with the supernatural, after all. Maybe there was some spooky explanation that wasn’t Michael’s fault. </p><p>As Michael rounded the corner and approached the front steps, he caught the sight of a distinct dye job and the swish of a long leather coat. He quickly ducked behind one of the ornamental bushes that ran along the façade of the Institute, just in time to watch Gerard Keay saunter past, all ripped jeans and fishnets and eye tattoos. </p><p>This was another tricky thing. Gerard had been working with Ms. Robinson for a while now - longer, Michael thought, than Gerard had been hanging around at the Institute, which had been a little over a year and a half. He doesn’t know what, exactly, Gerard does, though. Other than make Michael nervous. </p><p>That’s not Gerard’s fault, of course. Michael’s always a little nervous and he knows he needs more of the reassurances of polite society than most people are interested in offering, especially people who go out of their way to create an intimidating and aloof presence. It’s also not Gerard’s fault that Michael is so… curious? Intrigued? It’s hard to put into words, but Michael wants to know more about Gerard, which he senses Gerard would not appreciate. So, hiding in the bushes.</p><p>After Gerard turned the corner, Michael stepped out, brushing foliage off his teal sweater and trying to look dignified, or at least, not like a weird, lanky bird. He was adjusting his stripe-y scarf when he glanced at the building to see Sasha sitting on the steps drinking her coffee and barely containing her laughter. </p><p>“Yes, yes,” Michael said, “Very funny.” He sat down next to her and pulled an oatmeal cookie out of his bag and handed it over.</p><p>“Ooh, tell Alice thanks!” Sasha exclaimed, grabbing it. “And you know it was, actually, very funny.” She grinned up at him and he returned it.</p><p>“It was. And embarrassing.”</p><p>“It’s fine, he didn’t notice. He was too busy grumbling about Bouchard.”</p><p>“Oh, really? What happened?”</p><p>“Not sure,” Sasha replied, around a mouthful of cookie. “Something about what he is and is not allowed to see when he comes in here. We’d have to know what he is actually doing for it to be decent gossip.”</p><p>“Mm. I do wonder, though.”</p><p>“Who doesn’t? Bet that’s not all you’re wondering, either.” Sasha gave him a wink. </p><p>“I’ve told you already, it’s not like that! It’s just, um, a normal, healthy curiosity about what a random goth -”</p><p>“ - hot goth - ” Sasha’s tone was gently mocking.</p><p>“- is doing hanging around with Ms. Robinson, is all.”</p><p>“Hmm. That may be convincing... And the hiding in a bush?” She reached out to pull a twig from his hair and Michael spared a moment to appreciate her impeccable timing. </p><p>“My debilitating-but-charming social anxiety?” he suggested brightly.</p><p>Sasha laughed. She liked it when Michael teased himself, he’d noticed. It made her worry less about him. “Well you can’t hide from him forever.”</p><p>“I don’t! We talk sometimes.”</p><p>“Mm, yes. I’ve seen you at it; it’s really something. Makes me think maybe that crush of yours runs two ways.”</p><p>Michael’s jaw dropped. "I- That’s- I mean-”</p><p>Sasha patted his arm sympathetically and stood up, reaching down to give him a hand. “Come on, Debilitating-But-Charming, or we’ll be late.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Three hours later and Michael was deep in paperwork and phone calls.</p><p>“Yes, I’m, um, calling about your translation services? Yes, good! Okay, so I have some official reports that I need to get translated, only our usual provider doesn’t do Turkish. I was, um, hoping that maybe someone at your agency would… Oh, really? No one? Do you have any recommendations? Oh. Okay, no, that’s fine. Thank you so much for your time!”</p><p>Michael dropped the phone back on the cradle and let his head fall in his hands. Four different local translation companies and nothing. He knew Ms. Robinson wanted to get the official report on that meat pit in Istanbul as soon as possible, but he needed a break from professional phone calls, which was easily his least favorite part of the job. </p><p>Surely spending a short hour on his favorite part wouldn’t hurt, he thought, gently pushing away the list of local translators and opening another file instead. There was a suspicious locket mentioned in a statement the other day and he needed to cross reference it with other statements and then check Artifact Storage; Ms. Robinson suspected they might have something similar in possession. If he was lucky, he could hang out with Sasha too.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Michael hummed to himself as he dug around in one of the open file cabinets, occasionally singing softly when he remembered a snippet of lyrics. He liked it here, with all the statements and reference books piled high, creating a private little sanctuary of learning. </p><p>“Ah-ha!” he cried, pulling the folder on a statement from the 80s, in which Gertrude had recalled a mention of the locket. He flipped it open, balancing it on the drawer to thumb through the notes. There it was, on a shipping manifest. ‘Brass, lock of red-gold hair, photo too worn away to distinguish any features’ - yup this was it! Michael spared a grimace for whoever had opened it to see the photo and hair. The last file he’d pulled had been very clear on that point and he already had some advice for last week’s statement giver once he finished his research. He just needed to check artifact storage. </p><p>A flight of stairs and two hallways later and Michael was swiping his badge to open a heavy fire door that led into artifact storage. Sometimes he felt like it was overkill, but then he’d remember a few of the more grisly statements and think it was probably for the best. It still seemed surprising that he was allowed in here, though. It made him feel like an agent in <i>Men in Black</i> or something. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was around and then adopted a defensive stance and held his hands up by his face, making his index finger into a gun barrel and peering around one of the enormous filing cabinets, pretending he was about to corner some supernatural life form. “Galaxy defenders,” he sang quietly to himself.</p><p>“What are you doing?” came a voice from behind him.</p><p>“AH!” Michael dropped his hands and whirled around, face to face with Gerard Keay. “Er, nothing.” His face was beet red instantly. “Nothing at all. What are <i>you</i> doing?”</p><p>Gerard raised both an eyebrow and a book. Michael thought about how cool it looked to just raise a single eyebrow, especially when that eyebrow had a piercing in it, before realizing how rude he’d been.</p><p>“I mean, sorry, not that you can’t, um, be here, it’s just I, um, thought I saw you leave already, and-”</p><p>“Yeah, I went to fetch this. Gertrude wanted to have a look at it, see if we should store it here. Wait, when did you see me?”</p><p>“Oh haha, what?” Michael was such an idiot. His face was going to combust any second now. “Anyway, I, er, need to…” He abruptly turned on his heel and hurried down a random row of the enormous filing cabinets. He could hear Gerard quietly laughing behind him.</p><p>Oh god, oh god, oh god. “What was <i>that</i>??” Michael whispered at himself furiously. He couldn’t have been more awkward and stupid-looking if he’d <i>tried</i>. Gerard was going to think he was a complete idiot for the rest of <i>time</i>… ‘Which matters,’ a little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Sasha, ‘because…?’</p><p>“Because I like him, okay?” Michael whispered furiously in response. “Because I have a crush on the coolest, most attractive guy in this stupid building and he thinks I’m a weird idiot who can’t string two sentences together.” Ugh, he sounded like a teenager. </p><p>Michael slumped against one of the filing cabinets and took a few deep breaths, trying to control his thoughts. He knew he would be ruminating on this interaction for weeks, but if he could just calm himself down for now, he could go find Sasha and whine to her a bit. She would mock him, sure, but in a way that would make the whole thing feel rather silly and unimportant, instead of completely mortifying like it felt now. Plus, she would be thrilled he was admitting his crush. She would probably have some schemes to get Gerard’s (positive) attention, which Michael could immediately shoot down. He smiled at the thought. His breathing was still pretty ragged, though… New plan: find this other locket and <i>then</i> find Sasha.</p><p>He actually was pretty close to where the locket should be - that is, if it were filed under “locket” rather than “necklace” or “curse” or something dumb like that, which, in artifact storage, it very well could be. Still, here was as good a place as any to start. Michael put in the combination and tugged open what was hopefully the correct drawer. </p><p>A wide array of objects presented themselves to him - a collection of lace doilies, a lemon juicer, a few combination locks of various sizes, some books, a map of the Paris Metro, for some reason, and - ah, there it was. Michael reached out to check the tag on the locket and one of the books shot up into his outreached hand.</p><p>He flipped it over to look at the cover ‘Dying of Embarrassment,’ it read, ‘How to Charm Your Friends and Intimidate Your Enemies, When You Can Barely String Two Sentences Together.’</p><p>“Hey, wait a minute…” Michael said softly, but he found he was already flipping it open. </p><p>“Waitwaitwaitwait,” Michael cried, with increasing alarm, but his hands seemed to have a mind of their own. He tried to resist, but even knowing the kind of stuff they kept down here, even knowing that a book with apparent compulsion powers would not offer him good <i>conversational advice</i>, he did, genuinely, want to see what it said. So he looked. </p><p>As soon as his eyes made contact with the page, he was unable to move them. He tried to read the words printed there, but they swam in front of his eyes, which began to sting like someone was cooking onions nearby. He tried shaking his arms to fling the book away, but it just made him stumble forward, knocking the contents of the drawer onto the concrete floor. He let out a cry of pain, feeling blood trickling down his forearm, where he had caught the corner of the drawer in his flailing. </p><p>He didn’t have time to deal with that, though, because he started to feel a distinct chill in the air. Artifact storage was hardly warm, but he usually couldn’t see his actual breath, which he could just catch from the corners of his eyes, where they were still locked on the incomprehensible book. And then there was the thick fog coming out of the book… were the high cabinets obscured from the fog, or were they actually starting to dissolve around him?</p><p>“Michael, was that you?” The voice sounded distant. “Everything alright?”</p><p>Michael took a moment from his existential terror to mouth, “You have got to be kidding.” It was Gerard. There truly was no higher power in the universe; or there was, and it was malevolent and wanted to see him suffer. Michael dithered for a minute, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to let this book eat him or whatever it was going to do and then sighed heavily and opened his mouth to call out-</p><p>-and found that he couldn’t. He opened his mouth wider, pushed the air out harder… but nothing. That’s when he really started to panic. He hadn’t heard Gerard’s voice again. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he assumed that the sounds he’d heard were nothing important and was going about his day. Part of Michael was decidedly relieved - better to die of book than die of shame when Gerard found him reading an artifact like a total amateur. But that part was stupid; he didn’t really want to die. Anyway, he could always quit his job and move to New Zealand and raise sheep or something and never talk to Gerard again. </p><p>The fog obscured nearly everything, save for the faintest outlines of the filing cabinets. He took in another breath and tried to call out one more time, only to choke in surprise at the faint feeling of a hand on his arm. It felt like a ghost, nearly insubstantial. </p><p>Gerard’s voice was in his ear, sounding both close and impossibly distant, as if he was calling out to Michael over a large body of water. Michael still couldn’t see anything save for the blurry pages of the book and the fog. He struggled to make out Gerard’s words.</p><p>“Michael? Michael, I need you to concentrate.”</p><p>Michael tried.</p><p>“I need you to think about someone you like a lot, okay, Michael? Picture their face.”</p><p>Gerard’s face was so interesting to look at. He wore this dark eye make-up, which really looked so cool, and he has <i>piercings</i>, which, Michael had always wanted to get a nose piercing, but he was never sure, it seemed a bit much, and-</p><p>“Okay, good, you’re doing great, Michael. Keep going, think about your connection to them.”</p><p>Connection? Michael scoffed inwardly, since he could barely move at this point. There was no <i>connection</i>, and there definitely wouldn’t be after this. Gerard wouldn’t want anything to do with an idiot like him, who didn’t even know enough to be careful around the artifacts, who Gerard had to waste his time saving, and honestly it was ridiculous to even imagine that someone as cool and interesting as Gerard would even think about looking twice at someone like Michael, someone so self-conscious and awkward he could barely hold a conversation-</p><p>“No no no no, Michael, whatever you’re thinking, stop, okay? I need you to pick someone you’re really close to. Uh, a parent maybe? Ugh, that could go either way. Um… oh, Sasha! You two are friends, right? Think about Sasha!”</p><p>Michael did. Sasha was so lovely and kind. A lot of people thought Michael was too much, somehow, and kept him at a distance, friendly but not really friends. Sasha genuinely liked him, though. And sure, they were only “work friends,” but he trusted her and he could talk to her about how he was feeling and she didn’t judge him or think he was being overdramatic, or, if he was being overdramatic, she could make it okay without making him feel dumb about it. </p><p>“Yes, good, keep going.” Gerard’s voice was getting more clear. “Keep thinking about Sasha. She’s great, right?”</p><p>She was great! And Michael felt like she let him help her too. Hadn’t she confided in him when her and her partner broke up last year? And she didn’t even seem to think it was too much when Michael brought her flowers every day that week to make her feel better, which some people would have. </p><p>“Good, Michael. Almost there. Sasha would miss you so much if you fucked off to the Lonely.”</p><p>Michael didn’t know what Gerard was talking about, but Sasha would miss him if this book ate him. Or if he moved to New Zealand to raise sheep. He shook his head at his own melodrama and found that he could. He blinked rapidly and dropped the book. The fog was nearly gone.</p><p>Gerard gave him a wry smile and bent down to scoop it up with his sweatshirt sleeve over his hand and dropped it in his bag. “Maybe better burn this one, yeah?” he asked. </p><p>Michael looked at him, eyes wide and face red. Again. He should thank him. He should apologize. He should say <i>something</i>. He felt like he was about to cry.</p><p>Gerard caught the expression and his face fell. “Hey, it’s ok-”</p><p>“I have to-” Michael felt his composure crumble and pushed passed Gerard, hurrying down the row towards the janitorial closet just outside artifact storage, his usual crying spot from his first couple years at the Institute. He hadn’t needed it in awhile, but it should still be safe. He didn’t turn around to look at Gerard’s shocked and concerned expression. </p><p> </p><p>The next day, Michael left a tin of homemade chocolate chip and hazelnut cookies with a thank you note outside Ms. Robinson’s office, with Gerard’s name on it. Sasha had convinced him that moving to New Zealand was impractical and expensive and that he wouldn’t want to wake up as early in the morning as raising sheep required, so he resolved to just never be in the same room as Gerard and tried to get on with his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me after writing one (1) paragraph from Michael Shelley's PoV: I would literally die for this man.</p><p>Comments are life-giving ^.^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Gerry wields a piece of lumber and eats some ice cream.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all this is my favorite chapter. I just think it's fun :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Gerard, good, you’re here.” </p><p>Gertrude’s voice wasn’t raised, but carried all the same, and Gerry skidded to a halt and squinted down the hallway back at her. </p><p>“Yeeees?” he said.</p><p>“Come into my office, I have something for you to do.”</p><p>Gerry turned on his heel and strode back the way he came. “Something like what? A Leitner?”</p><p>“There are more things on heaven and earth, Gerard, than your Leitners.”</p><p>“A Hamlet reference?” Gerry said, eyeing her cardigan as he passed her through the door to her office. “Really leaning into that Giles aesthetic, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I hardly think you are in a position to be commenting on people’s personal styles, Buffy.” Gertrude shut the door behind them. “And take those ridiculous boots off my desktop.”</p><p>“They’re on the edge, it’s not even technically the top,” Gerry muttered under his breath, consoling himself by tipping his chair back on two legs.</p><p>“Now,” she continued, taking her seat, “What have your dealings been with The Buried?”</p><p>“Nothing major. They tend to be kind of subtle, you know? Not like the cults running around causing chaos. Their Leitners burn nicely, but I’ve never met an avatar.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Gertrude looked him over, considering. “That will do, I think. I’m sending you to investigate rumors I’ve heard that Enrique MacMillian is lurking around London Gateway Port.”</p><p>“MacMillian, MacMillian…” Gerry’s brow furrowed. “Wait, the <i>Dig</i> guy? Didn’t he die?”  </p><p>“Evidently not. And you’re shockingly well-informed about him. What would Elias say?” Gertrude's lips were ever-so-slightly turned up.</p><p>Gerry gave her a conspiratorial grin. “You really think he’s important, though?” he asked, serious again.</p><p>“Time will tell, Gerard.”</p><p>“Uh, okay. That statement made it seem like he won’t do much except scratch at the ground and chant “dig” at people, but sure, whatever you want.”</p><p>Gertrude steepled her fingers. “Gerard.”</p><p>Gerry mimicked her, resting his chin on his fingertips. “Gertrude.”</p><p>She sighed. “I realize that you are more… experienced than most of my actual Assistants. But that certainly doesn’t mean you can afford to get cocky. Smarter people than you have been taken by the Entities.”</p><p>“Aw, Gertrude. I didn’t think you cared.”</p><p>“Don’t fish for affection, Gerard;” - he let out an outraged squawk -  “it’s unbecoming. Now, can you make it out to investigate this afternoon?”</p><p>“Sure, but it’ll take me awhile to get there on public transit.”</p><p>“That won’t be necessary. Michael will accompany you and can drive you both.”</p><p>“Michael?” Gerry’s slouchy posture turned stiff and alert. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You were just talking about how dangerous this is, and-”</p><p>“I am sure. I have complete faith in you both.”</p><p>Gerry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Forty minutes later, they were in one of the Institute’s cars, a tiny Peugeot that Michael had to scrunch down a bit to fit his lanky frame into. His hair was tied up in a top knot that was now squashed against the roof, making it look like he was wearing an odd, curly hat. Gerry fiddled with the radio, looking for something moody and loud to drown out the awkward quiet. They hadn’t talked since the incident in artifact storage a few weeks ago. In fact, Gerry hadn’t really even seen Michael around the Institute. He suspected he was avoiding him. The cookies had been delicious, though.</p><p>Gerry turned the knob: static, classic rock, more static, mariachi, abrasive car commercial, static - </p><p>“Oh!” Michael’s exclamation sounded involuntary. </p><p>Gerry looked at him. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Oh, um, sorry. I just, um, liked… that.”</p><p>“What, this?” Gerry twisted the knob a bit to return to the jangly folk rock.</p><p>Michael blushed. “Um, yeah? We don’t have to listen to that though! You should pick something you like. You probably don’t like this kind of stuff.”</p><p>Gerry crossed his arms and leaned back, looking down his nose at Michael. “And what makes you think I don’t like Fleetwood Mac?”</p><p>Michael’s eyes were huge. “Oh, no, sorry! I didn’t mean to make any assumptions, I’m so sorry, I just-”</p><p>Gerry grinned. “Relax, I’m just giving you a hard time.” <i>Because you are fucking adorable like this</i>, he very much did not say. “I do like them though.”</p><p>Michael smiled back, the gap in his front teeth on full display. “Cool. Me too.” After a beat, he offered, “My dad used to play their records a lot when I was little.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Gerry prompted. </p><p>Michael relaxed further. “Yeah, it’s funny, we would make up these dances to the different songs? And there would be costume changes, but with stuff that was in the living room, so, like, the afghan on the sofa would be a cape and the old-fashioned covers on the arms of the chair we would put on our heads, like nun habits? And then our choreography! My dad was really into Michael Jackson - that’s who I’m named after, actually - so we’d watch his videos and-” Michael cut himself off abruptly, face flushing again. “Sorry, I’m rambling. What about you? Did you, er, have any goofy family hijinks?” He ended with a breathy laugh.</p><p>Gerry grimaced at the answer he had to give. “Well… my dad died when I was a kid, but-”</p><p>Michael’s jaw dropped in horror: “ohmygod Gerard I’msosor-”</p><p>“It’s fine, Michael, really.” Gerry felt so bad he actually reached out to pat Michael’s arm in an attempt to calm him down. “Don’t worry about it. I was going to say, when I was little, he was as amazing as yours sounds.” Gerry smiled at Michael again and Michael gave a nervous one back. </p><p>Gerry continued: “He was a fantastic cook. I remember standing on a kitchen chair, his arms on either side of me, helping me measure ingredients for cookie dough. He was so patient, god, I must’ve only been 4 or 5. I think that’s my earliest memory.”</p><p>“He sounds lovely,” Michael said quietly. </p><p>They didn’t speak much for the rest of the drive, but as Stevie Nicks crooned in the background, it no longer felt awkward.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The newly-constructed London Gateway Port had a deep-water container terminal that seemed like a decent place to start for a Buried avatar. Gerry led the way.</p><p>“So, uh, Gerard?” Michael asked as he trotted after. “Wha-”</p><p>“Gerry.” </p><p>“Oh, okay, sure, Gerry. Right.” </p><p>Gerry glanced back at Michael, questioning.</p><p>“Right. Um, what exactly are we looking for?” </p><p>“What did Gertrude tell you?”</p><p>“Not a lot, really.” Michael made a face. “She said there was a man named Enrique MacMillian and he wasn’t really, um, mentally stable, I guess? I’m not really sure why we’re here, though.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” Gerry responded. They had reached a fence behind which lay a field of shipping containers. Seemed like a good enough place to start. Gerry pulled out his lockpick set and got to work. “So, that’s all true. And also, this Enrique guy may or may have dedicated himself to the embodiment of claustrophobia.” </p><p>Michael was too polite to say ‘what the fuck are you talking about,’ but his face said it for him. </p><p>“You know all the statements that deal with being buried, trapped, drowned?” The lock clicked and Gerry made a triumphant sound. </p><p>Michael nodded.</p><p>“Well, that’s The Buried.” Gerry tossed the lock away and swung the gate open, motioning for Michael to enter.</p><p>Michael continued to look at him blankly. </p><p>“Choke? Too Close I Cannot Breathe? It’s one of Smirke’s Fourteen?”</p><p>Michael slowly shook his head, eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline. </p><p>“Oh. <i>Oh</i>.” <i>Fuck</i>. Gerry stopped trying to usher him into the row of shipping containers and regrouped, trying to think how he could explain the entire structure of the supernatural world they were working to disrupt in a quick 3 minutes so they could find MacMillian. <i>This would have been a perfect conversation for that hour and a half car ride we just took</i>, he thought grumpily. </p><p>He took a deep breath. “Okay, so imagine-”</p><p>Gerry was interrupted by a shrieking cackle. </p><p>He and Michael stared at each other for a beat.</p><p>Gerry looked in the direction of the sound then back at Michael’s face. He was biting his lower lip and looking around, uncertain what to do. “Okay, okay, um, there are supernatural entities, and…”</p><p>“Gerry,” Michael’s voice was gentle but impatient, like he was talking to a child but was going to be cool about it. “I know that. I work at the Institute.” </p><p>“Okay, yeah, but it’s not just like spooky ghosts and shit, they’re. Ugh, I hate this comparison, but they’re basically gods. Kind of. And they have these people who serve them, who spread their fear, who feed them. That’s what MacMillian is.”</p><p>“Oh… okay. D-do we… <i>fight</i> him?” Michael looked terrified at the prospect, especially when another scream bounced off the shipping containers, sounding much closer than before. “Oh my <i>god</i>, I thought we were going to take a <i>statement</i> or something, I brought a <i>clipboard</i>-”</p><p>“Listen, Michael, why don’t you go back to the car and-”</p><p>Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.” He straightened his back and tipped his chin up. Gerry was impressed, to be honest. </p><p>“Okay. Let’s do it, then. Gertrude just sent us out here to get information, but.” He tugged at a nearby pallet, yanking loose two decently sized pieces of wood, with bonus nails sticking out the end. “It’s better to be prepared.” He tossed one to Michael, who gripped it with both hands, hoisted high like a baseball bat. With his suspenders and baby blue button-up, he looked like the character that would die in the first 30 minutes of the zombie movie. Gerry decided he’d better take the lead.</p><p>They worked their way through the towering rows of shipping containers, Gerry peeking out at each end and motioning Michael through after checking the coast was clear. Still, it was a tricky place to take cover properly, especially at 5:30 in the afternoon with the sun still up, and when MacMillian squeezed himself out of a gap between containers that a rat would struggle with and knocked Michael to the ground, Gerry shouldn’t have been surprised.</p><p>He was, though. Especially since he was 20 yards away, checking the next row. He noticed when he turned around to motion to Michael and saw him on the ground, a rabid-looking MacMillian sitting on top of him clawing at his eyes. </p><p>“Nooooope,” Gerry cried, voice rising with his piece of pallet as he sprinted back toward Michael, who was using his own pallet piece to keep MacMillian’s claws at a distance above him. Gerry reached them a moment later and swung with all his might, knocking MacMillian out cold. </p><p>“Wow,” Michael breathed, struggling under MacMillian’s now-dead weight. “That was incredible. You must be really strong! Is he…?”</p><p>“Just knocked out, I think,” Gerry said breezily, tossing his pallet piece to the ground. He reached out a hand to Michael and hauled him to his feet. “Stay here for a minute and keep an eye on him; I’m going to grab some rope from my bag. We’ll take him back with us.”</p><p>Michael looked a bit alarmed, whether at being left alone with MacMillian or driving all the way back to London with him in the back seat, Gerry wasn’t sure.</p><p>“Relax,” he said, gently. “I’ll hurry.” </p><p>To his credit, he did jog. But when he got back, Michael and MacMillian were gone. </p><p>“Fuck.” Gerry had no time to waste, but he did indulge in 15 seconds of kicking his pallet piece and then jogging to pick it up. They couldn’t have gotten far; he’d been gone less than 5 minutes. But MacMillian could clearly move in a way other humans could not. </p><p>Gerry dithered for a minute, then decided he just needed to pick a direction and commit. He started moving further into the rows of shipping containers, pallet piece held high, ears pricked for any sounds of movement. </p><p>He moved down the entire row, called out Michael’s name as loud as he dared, inspecting containers for recent tampering, looking in cracks in case there were human eyeballs looking back. Nothing. He must have walked for a quarter mile. </p><p>“Fuck fuck FUCK,” Gerry muttered to himself. “Think, think!”</p><p>Maybe he could bring MacMillian back out of hiding, luring him with the promise of another victim. Okay, that was a plan.</p><p>Gerry swung around the corner to another row of shipping containers. He held out his pallet piece and banged it against containers, as he skipped down the row. </p><p>“Enriiiiiique!” he called. “Come on out! I just want to talk!”</p><p>He stopped for a moment to listen. Nothing.</p><p>“Come on, mate,” he continued. “I would love to hear about all the digging you’ve been up to! I bet it’s fascinating! Maybe you could teach me to dig too!”</p><p>He stopped again. Maybe Michael would be able to call out to him. But what he heard wasn’t Michael’s shouts for help or MacMillian’s weird skulking. Instead, he heard the creak of one of the shipping cranes powering up and positioning itself. Gerry bolted towards it.</p><p>As he ran, he could just make out MacMillian inside the cab, working the controls. Was he… dumping Michael into the sea? Jesus… Gerry sped up, following the rigging to a group of shipping containers positioned near the dock. </p><p>“Michael!” he screamed, still sprinting. “Michael, can you hear me??”</p><p>He heard a banging from one of the containers, like Michael was kicking it from the inside. Gerry sprinted toward it, pulling his lockpick kit out as he ran and cursing as it slipped from his fingers and slid under some machinery. “Fuckfuckfuck,” he muttered, then: “It’s okay Michael! I’m coming!”</p><p>He slid onto the ground, tearing new, non-aesthetic holes in his black jeans as he groped around trying to find the kit. He felt sharp cuts on his fingers from whatever the fuck this machine was, but after a minute his hand closed around the leather of his kit. “Okay, COMING MICHAEL!” </p><p>Luckily the padlock around the chain was cheap, because as Gerry picked it, he could hear Michael’s muffled cries within and it felt terrible. Gerry’s stomach was in knots and he kept up a steady stream of reassurances, even as the crane descended on Michael’s container. </p><p>“It’s okay, Michael, totally fine, I’ve done this a ton before, you’ve nothing to worry about.” Even as he talked Gerry could hear the fear in his own voice. </p><p>“Any second now, and all this will be over and then we’ll, I dunno, go get some ice cream or something, just give me a minute.” Gerry’s hands were shaking and it was hard to catch the part of the lock he needed, but finally he got it. He ripped off the chain and hurled it away, just as the crane began to lift the container. Michael’s muffled yelling became panicked.</p><p>“It’s okay!” Gerry shouted, flinging open the door, as the container began to lift. Fuck, what if Michael couldn’t move? The container was rising quickly and Gerry was about to hoist himself into it while he still could, when he saw Michael standing at the edge, mouth gagged and hands tied behind his back.</p><p>“Michael!” Gerry let go of the container, which was nearly out of his grasp anyway, and held out his arms. “Quick!”</p><p>Michael’s eyes were huge, but he jumped into Gerry’s waiting arms. Gerry had half a second to ruefully think about what a ridiculous romance movie ending it all was before Michael, who was, after all, a good 8 inches taller than him, knocked him to the ground. </p><p>“Oof!” Gerry groaned. He didn’t need the gag out of Michael’s mouth to know he was saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”</p><p>“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Gerry gasped. The wind had been knocked out of him, but he reached up and tugged the cloth off Michael’s face, which was inches from his own. “You’re fine, just -” he gasped for air, “- a minute.” Gerry braced himself upright, palms digging into the gravel while he tried to get enough air in his lungs. </p><p>“Gerry, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened, only I think he maybe wasn’t all the way unconscious, or just faking it maybe, because I turned around for just a second to see if you were coming back yet and he hit me over the head with your stick and I woke up in here, and I’m really sorry you have to save me, oh and thank you, of course, wow, I can’t believe I owe you <i>again</i>, this is really <i>embarrassing</i>, I just-” He cut himself off as Gerry, now recovered, looked up at him. </p><p>All at once, they were both hyper aware that Michael was sitting in Gerry’s lap, their faces closer than they’d ever been. Michael turned bright red and took a deep breath in. Gerry realized Michael was stuck in place by embarrassment at the wiggling he would need to do to stand up with his hands tied behind his back. Was Gerry a terrible person if he just gave it just a minute? </p><p>“It’s okay,” Gerry said quietly. “Not a problem at all.” He reached out to gently brush some gravel off of a scrape on Michael’s cheek. “You’re hurt.” </p><p>“It’s nothing,” Michael replied, voice barely a whisper. Gerry could feel Michael’s warm breath on his own lips and he shivered. Michael inhaled sharply in surprise.</p><p>Gerry moved his hand to Michael’s hair, which had burst free of its tie and was cascading wildly down his shoulders. It was even softer than it looked. Gerry tucked a curl behind Michael’s ear, but didn’t move his hand, allowing it to rest on Michael’s neck. Michael’s face became, somehow, even more red, but there was a glint in his gray eyes, and his lips parted very slightly. Gerry leaned in, eyes on Michael’s to read his reaction…</p><p>Which was shock and fear, as the container crashed back to the ground, 10 feet from them. </p><p>“Shit,” Gerry said. He quickly threw his arms around Michael to untie his hands, doing his best to ignore Michael’s racing heart, which was difficult, as his face was now pressed against Michael’s chest.</p><p>“Okay, let’s go!” he said, as Michael stumbled to his feet. </p><p>“Wait,” said Michael.</p><p>“Nope, this is the part where we run,” Gerry hauled himself up too and grabbed Michael’s hand, but Michael tugged him back. </p><p>“No, look. Who are those people?”</p><p>Gerry squinted at the base of the crane, where two figures stood. Both were big, built guys. One had a sleeveless shirt with tattoos up and down his arms and the other was wearing a peacoat and stupid-looking captain’s hat.</p><p>“Wait…” said Michael. “Is that… Mr. Bouchard’s husband?”</p><p>He turned to look at Gerry, but Gerry was already storming off toward them.</p><p>“What the hell??” Gerry was yelling, waving his arms at the two men as he stomped towards them. The tattooed man gave a pointed look to the man who was indeed Peter Lukas, who scowled and pulled a twenty pound note out of his wallet and handed it over. </p><p>“Plukas? Salesa?? Which one of you fed that tip to Gertrude? And why the fuck were you just waiting around being utterly useless? What are you even doing here?”</p><p>This time Lukas raised his eyebrows at Salesa, who put on his obnoxious gracious host act. “Now, now, Mr. Keay, I hope there are no hard feelings.” He reached out to clap Gerry on the back and Gerry ducked under his arm and popped up again like a boxer. </p><p>Salesa rolled his eyes. “Come now, Mr. Keay, all’s well that ends well, after all. A short day’s work for you and your… companion,” His eyes grazed Michael, who had followed Gerry and was looking the two men over curiously. “And we have this fellow out in the open and easily taken care of. You know he never would have come out for Mr. Lukas and myself.” He glanced up at MacMillian, who was glaring daggers down at them. Salesa gave him a cheery wave. </p><p>“And why do you even care? You’re both, like, Neutral Evil; why are you here??” Gerry shouted at them.</p><p>“Surely none of us want to deal with a Buried ritual,” Lukas pointed out, skirting the question and eye contact both. </p><p>“And MacMillian will, I think, be… useful, for business,” Salesa added, smiling warmly as if this would delight them all as much as it did him. Michael gave an uncertain smile back, eyes flicking to Gerry.</p><p>Gerry kicked the gravel, fruitlessly. No way was this nutjob in a position to set off an actual ritual. How much of this had Gertrude actually known? Wasn’t this always the question? Had she really used them for bait? So Salesa could get a few treasures? Without at least telling Gerry??</p><p>The sound of a throat clearing snapped Gerry out of it and he looked up to see everyone looking at him, Michael with concern, Plukas with impatience, Salesa with amusement. Even MacMillian was staring at him.</p><p>“We’re going,” Gerry growled, seizing Michael’s hand and stalking away. </p><p>“Uh, it was, uh, nice to meet everyone!” Michael waved awkwardly with his other hand, trotting after Gerry.</p><p>“Whaaat… was that about?” he asked when they were a fair distance away. It sounded like he didn’t know whether to be worried or laugh. Gerry couldn’t blame him. Salesa and Plukas had that effect on people. Or at least, people who weren’t him. “And why was Mr. Lukas there?”</p><p>Gerry softened. Michael had had a rough day and he didn’t want to add to it, especially if that addition involved a treatise on the moral ambiguity and utilitarianism of one Gertrude Robinson. He pushed down his anger and hurt and turned to Michael and smiled. “Nothing, really. They’re idiots.” He put on a petulant-looking frown. “And completely unhelpful.”</p><p>Michael giggled, a breathy sound that reminded Gerry, weirdly, of bells. Gerry felt his stomach flutter with it and noticed he was still gripping Michael’s hand. He shifted, twining their fingers into a proper handhold, rather than a tugging-your-partner-in-crime-while-you-storm-off.</p><p>Michael said nothing, but blushed deeply and gave his hand a tiny squeeze. When they got in the car, he asked Gerry to pick the music. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Gerry was dozing against the window as they entered London. He was warm and comfortable with Michael’s careful driving and was in that in-between state when you close your eyes and then open them again and several miles have passed all of the sudden. </p><p>“Gerry?” Michael’s voice was tentative and quiet, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not Gerry was sleeping.</p><p>“Mm, yeah?” Gerry blinked away the sleep and sat up, stretching. </p><p>“Well, when I was in that shipping container…”</p><p>“Yeah?” Gerry’s voice was wary. Was Michael having a delayed freak out? God, Gerry should have offered to drive, how could he make Michael drive them all the way back after that? </p><p>“You sounded like you really wanted to reassure me.”</p><p>“Of course I did…”</p><p>“So did you really mean it when you said you’d take me out for ice cream?” Michael flicked his eyes to look at Gerry and the corner of his mouth turned up mischievously.</p><p>Gerry let out a surprised bark of a laugh. Michael laughed too, warm and silly, with a hint of uncertainty. “Yeah, Michael. I did. Let’s go out for ice cream.”</p><p>Michael grinned and pulled off the A-13, pulling up to a shop with vividly-colored scoops and lots of options for toppings. The sight of his delighted, freckled face behind a big cone of bright purple ube ice cream with colorful jimmies was absolutely doing it for Gerry.  </p><p>“Let’s walk to the park with these,” he suggested. Michael nodded and they began walking down the street, licking their already dripping cones. </p><p>“I can’t believe we did that,” Michael was saying, as they walked. “You were really amazing! Where did you learn to pick locks?”</p><p>Gerry shrugged. “Oh, just something you pick up when you have a habit of getting into places where you don’t belong.”</p><p>“I’d love to learn something practical like that.” Michael sounded wistful.</p><p>“Well, I’ll just have to teach you sometime.”</p><p>Michael’s eyes were big with surprise. “Oh no, you don’t have to!”</p><p>“Not a problem. Plus, you’re taking nearly getting drown in a shipping container remarkably well. Maybe you’ll be doing more fieldwork now. We’ll have to get those skills up somehow. Here,” Gerry switched his ice cream to his left hand and held out his right. “Throw a punch, right here.”</p><p>Michael laughed. “Oh no, I couldn’t. You’ll laugh at me, anyway, it’ll be very bad.”</p><p>“Nuh-uh.” Gerry was adamant. “Right here, let’s see it.”</p><p>“Okay, okay.” Michael made a face, and then a fist. He took a deep breath and flung his arm out at Gerry’s open hand, squeezing his eyes closed. He opened one to peek at his success. “Well?”</p><p>“Not bad,” Gerry responded. “You want to put your thumb here, though -” He adjusted Michael’s fist “ -and make sure to step forward with the same foot, to get your body weight behind it.”</p><p>“I’ll have to practice,” Michael said. </p><p>“Now that you’re basically an Institute field agent,” Gerry agreed, grinning.</p><p>“Is that what you are?” Michael asked curiously.</p><p>“Nah, I’m more… freelance.” Gerry left it at that. No need to get into the whole song and dance of how he got into this world. It’d kill the mood.</p><p>And there was definitely a mood. The trees lining the park had lights in them and the brick apartments with ivy made it feel like a cheesy movie. Gerry felt the last of his anger melt away as they walked inside the marble arches of the park. Gertrude would have told him if she knew MacMillian was going to attack them. She knew Gerry shared her practicality and would have no reason to trick him. And now, here he was, with Michael, on a-</p><p>“Hey Michael?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Is this a date?”</p><p>Michael inhaled, surprised, and choked on a bit of cone. Gerry knocked him on the back a couple times, eyes glinting mischievously.  </p><p>“If I knew it was a date,” Michael said, sounding scratchy and outraged, “I would have bought your ice cream!”</p><p>“Ah, well.” Gerry bit the pointy end of his cone and crumpled the paper, shooting it neatly into a trash can. He tucked his hands behind his head, elbows out, and leaned back against the plinth of a statue. “I guess there’s always next time.”</p><p>“Next time?”</p><p>“Sure.” Gerry’s voice was a low rumble. “Or the time after that.”</p><p>Michael took a step towards him, transfixed. Gerry looked up at him through his dark eyelashes.</p><p>Michael let the last few bites of his ice cream cone fall from his hand to the ground as he closed the distance between them, winding his arms around Gerry’s waist and kissing him. </p><p>Gerry’s eyes fluttered closed as he twisted a hand into Michael’s curls and kissed back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Gerry has so much game, honestly, I could never.</p><p>Also. In Animorphs #27: The Exposed, the squad morphs into giant squid to infiltrate a Yeerk base at the bottom of the ocean to fix the malfunctioning holograms of the Chee and reach the end of their time limit before reaching the surface, teaching 11 year old me that there are places in the ocean so deep that the weight of the water above you would crush your frail human body. In this essay I'll be exploring the ramification that this Animorphs installment has on the Entity classification of the ocean in general, and deep ocean spaces in specific, in Jonathan Sims' The Magnus Archives, specifically positing that the ocean is just as much Buried as it is Vast.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Michael boils a lobster and chats with a funky grandpa.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I think the spicy kissing in this chapter is at acceptable Teen-levels, but let me know if you disagree!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few weeks later, Michael was sat at the rickety table in the file room of the Archives, digging through a box of completely mismatched files, looking for a particular statement that Ms. Robinson wanted. None of them looked right and he let out a deep sigh as he stood up to try a new box full of equally disorganized nonsense. </p><p>Well, not nonsense. Michael hadn’t needed Gerry to tell him that the world was not entirely as it seemed. Despite his parents’ worry and then annoyance, he never stopped believing what he saw when Ryan was taken. It was comforting, in a way, to work for an organization that documented things like this. Something about the idea of someone in charge Doing Something made Michael feel better about the whole thing. Even if he didn’t know exactly what was being done, at least he could play a role. Be a cog in the machine, and all that. Michael liked being a part of things that way.</p><p>Still, Gerry - who was less a cog and more a perpetual motion device - was horrified enough with Michael’s lack of knowledge about the “Bigger Picture,” as he called it, that he insisted on additional lessons. Actually, they were due for one tonight. Michael checked his watch and frowned. It was already 5:30 and he felt no closer to finding the file. He didn’t want to be late for Gerry, but he also didn’t want to let down Ms. Robinson, who sometimes seemed to live in the Archives. He often felt the pressure to live up to her work ethic. </p><p>As if he’d summoned her, Ms. Robinson entered the room, giving two abrupt knocks to announce herself. </p><p>“Oh, uh, hello, Ms. Robinson! I’m, uh, still looking for that file you wanted. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” He shook a finger at the disobedient files and immediately felt like an idiot. </p><p>“Thank you, Michael.”</p><p>“Oh, not at all, it’s no trouble. These pesky files won’t find themselves!” He gave a little laugh that Ms. Robinson didn’t return. He knew she was just a stoic person, but it always made him nervous and overly dorky as a result.</p><p>“Regardless, it can wait for the morning.” She settled into the other seat at the rickety table, looking like she wasn’t planning on leaving for the night any time soon.</p><p>“Oh, no that’s all right! I’m sure they’ll turn up soon! If you’re here, I should be, shouldn’t I?”</p><p>“I insist, Michael. Go home and you can resume your search tomorrow.”</p><p>“Oh, um, okay. If you’re… sure?”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Okay, well. Uh, thank you, Ms. Robinson! I’ll just, um, go now.” He picked up his bag and then blushed deeply when he realized he had a couple files inside it that he thought might help Gerry with a Leitner he was tracking down. He was sure he wasn’t supposed to bring statements outside the Institute but he was so eager to share his ideas about the book with Gerry that he didn’t want to wait until Gerry was in next. He ducked his head to hide his blush and scurried towards the door, tripping a bit over his chair. </p><p>“Okay, um, see you tomorrow, Ms. Robinson.”</p><p>“Good night, Michael.” She was already nose deep in a statement and didn’t look up. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>On the walk to the Underground, Michael allowed himself to let the awkwardness dissipate and instead began to feel excited about seeing Gerry again. They had gotten into a comfortable flow, considering the tumultuous day of their first date. They ran into each other at the Institute sometimes, of course - in fact, Michael shyly suspected the Gerry sometimes went out of his way to come to the Institute more often than before, using research as an excuse to wile away an hour or two in the archival library or artifact storage when Michael had work to do there too. </p><p>Plus, they were… well there was no other word for it - <i>dating</i>. It felt like something out of someone else’s life. They had gone to the movies together the previous week and shared a bag of popcorn and Gerry put his arm around Michael’s shoulders. On Sunday, Michael took Gerry to his favorite spot in the city, a quiet park with a pond. They’d dangled their legs off a bridge and tossed seeds down to the ducks and Michael rested his head on Gerry’s shoulder. Gerry had left a sunflower on Michael’s desk on Tuesday, with a note that said he saw it in someone’s garden and it made him think of Michael, “bright and lovely.” Michael’s face had been brick red for a full hour and Sasha teased him about the dopey grin that remained on his face the rest of the day.</p><p>Michael had always been a friendly person and had people he liked being around, even a select few people he actually felt sort of comfortable with, like Sasha. But he had never really gone out with anyone for more than a few awkward dates. He’d never even had a very close friend again, after Ryan. This romance with Gerry was brand new and completely absorbing. </p><p>And, Michael noted wryly, as Gerry rounded the corner to meet him at the Underground entrance, that exciting drop his stomach did every time he saw him was utterly addictive.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Did you really give your flat the “Open House” treatment for me,” Gerry asked when they got to Michael’s place, “Or do you expect me to believe that you always make that little divot in your throw pillows?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael said loftily, taking Gerry’s coat.</p><p>“Well, I like it. It even smells nice. Should I take off my shoes?”</p><p>“Whatever you’d like,” said Michael, slipping off his own. Gerry followed suit, which Michael preferred, if he was honest.</p><p>He peeked over Gerry’s shoulder as Gerry unloaded his bag. “You should have told me to get some of this stuff, Gerry, it looks like it was expensive - is that <i>saffron</i>?”</p><p>“Well, that I already had, so it’s no trouble.”</p><p>“Okay… but what is that??”</p><p>Gerry straightened up, his arms full of a big, wiggling, plastic bag. “A lobster,” he said proudly. </p><p>“And it’s… alive?” </p><p>“That’s how you cook ‘em,” Gerry said cheerfully. Then his face fell. “You, uh, have a really big pot... right?”</p><p>Michael bit his lip, then his face cleared. “Yes, actually! The last person who lived here left it.” He opened the pantry door and got down on his hands and knees, digging behind rolls of paper towels and cans of soup. </p><p>“So, what exactly are we making?” Michael asked, voice muffled by the contents of the pantry.</p><p>“Paella!” Gerry said, still unpacking his bag. </p><p>Michael emerged triumphantly with the big pot. “Wow, really?? Isn’t that supposed to be really difficult?”</p><p>“Not for Eric Delano,” Gerry said grinning and pulling out a worn and stained index card with careful, cramped handwriting on it, “And not for us.”</p><p>Michael’s heart melted at the expression on his face and he wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling Gerry against him and planting a kiss on his temple.</p><p>“What’s that for?”</p><p>“I just really love how happy this makes you.”</p><p>Gerry’s cheeks were pink when Michael leaned back to look at him. “It just makes me feel close to him, you know? I was too young to make this with him, or even remember it, but still.”</p><p>“Your mum never made it?”</p><p>Gerry grimaced, but all he said was “No.” Michael had noticed Gerry’s reluctance to talk about his mother and he never pushed, but… well, he just hoped someday Gerry would trust him enough to tell him what about her made his mouth twist like that. </p><p>Not now though. Now he was making paella with his boyfriend. “So what’s first then?” he asked. “Cut up an onion?”</p><p>“How did you know? Are you holding out on me, Gordon Ramsey?”</p><p>Michael pulled out a cutting board and knife. “I can cook! Like…” he thought a moment, “Five dishes! And most of them start with cutting an onion.”</p><p>Gerry leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at Michael and smirking. “Well let’s see it then.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The paella was fantastic - and Michael told Gerry so after every third bite or so. </p><p>“Don’t forget you made this too,” Gerry chided. “You should be congratulating yourself. But later, because now it’s time to focus.”</p><p>They were sat in Michael’s living room. It turned out Gerry’s bag had also contained the papers, photos, drawings, and copious amounts of red string that comprised what Michael fondly called the “murder board.”</p><p>“The idea is that there isn’t murder,” Gerry always protested. “It’s more like a monster board, if anything.”</p><p>“Murder board sounds cooler, though. Like we’re catching a serial killer.”</p><p>Gerry grimaced. “Well… we aren’t <i>not</i> catching a serial killer, so I guess that fits. If anything, we’re catching several.”</p><p>Michael sighed dreamily. “Such a romantic date.”</p><p>Gerry threw a pillow at him. “Pay attention, or you won’t remember enough to pass my quiz on the known members of the Cult of the Lightless Flame.”</p><p>Michael rolled his eyes. Of course he would pass, there were flashcards. Michael was excellent at flashcards.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>A few days later found Michael very patiently listening to a long-winded story while he was supposed to be following up on some leads for Gertrude. <i>Statement of Simon Fairchild, regarding buying some acrylic paint</i>, he thought, giggling to himself.</p><p>“And so I said to the young man at the counter, I said, “Yes, I can see this is Egyptian blue. What I’m asking for is <i>cerulean</i>.” Mr. Fairchild looked pointedly at Michael.</p><p>“An easy mistake to make, surely?” Michael responded politely, hiding a smile.</p><p>“To the untrained eye perhaps! But this was an art store! If I can’t trust the good folks at Blick, who can I trust?”</p><p>“Very true,” Michael said agreeably. “So what did you do?”</p><p>“I told him that Tintoretto had never trained a foolish apprentice in his life and if he could not run a decent art store, I had no desire to continue to patronize it. And then,” here he gave Michael a wink, “I stormed off in a flourish he won’t soon forget!”</p><p>“I’m sure he’ll rethink his paint crimes, Mr. Fairchild.”</p><p>“Ah, you’re a good boy,” he responded, patting Michael’s shoulder. “And an excellent dresser. Another lovely sweater today I see. You’ve always had good style.”</p><p>Michael looked down and cringed inwardly when he realized that his cardigan that day looked like it had come directly from Mr. Fairchild’s own wardrobe. Maybe he should start dressing cooler. Or at least less like a 75-year-old. Maybe Gerry could help. </p><p>Mr. Fairchild was looking up towards the ceiling and grimacing. “I had better get going, lad. I can feel Elias’s impatience through these walls.” He shuttered dramatically.</p><p>“What is Mr. Bouchard meeting with you about?”</p><p>“Oh this and that,” Mr. Fairchild replied vaguely, “Never you mind.” He dropped a handful of Werther’s Originals on Michael’s desk and ruffled his hair affectionately before wandering out of the archival assistant’s office and towards the elevator. </p><p>Michael rolled his eyes and smiled while opening his first candy. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, lover.” Gerry swept into the archival assistants’ collective office a few hours later and made a beeline for Michael’s desk.</p><p>Michael’s face lit up and he leaned across the desk to offer up a cheek for Gerry to kiss. “Hey yourself,” he responded around the piece of butterscotch candy lodged in the side of his mouth. </p><p>“What are you eating?”</p><p>“Just a Werther’s Original. Mr. Fairchild was just here and -”</p><p>“What! Spit it out, quick!”</p><p>Michael’s brow furrowed, but he spit the candy into his hand and made a face. “Um, why?”</p><p>“Michael, he’s an avatar of The Vast.” Gerry grabbed the candy and threw it across the room, then leaned across the desk, putting a hand to Michael’s forehead and staring intently into his eyes. “How do you feel right now? Dizzy? Like you’re falling through empty air?”</p><p>“Um, no? Normal? And I know he’s an avatar.”</p><p>“You WHAT?” Gerry’s eyes bulged in shock. </p><p>Michael winced and hurried to explain himself: “I mean, I didn’t know, I guess, but I figured. I’ve seen him come up in a couple statements and when you started teaching me about all the Entities, I guess I just, um, put it together.”</p><p>“Okay, and you’re taking candy from a literal eldritch fear monster why, exactly? Jesus, Michael, what were you thinking!” </p><p>Michael flinched and his voice was small. “I thought it was okay. He’s been giving me candy since I was 17.” </p><p>“It doesn’t matter! You need to be more careful!"</p><p>Michael said nothing and cast his eyes down at his desk.</p><p>"That’s why I’ve been making such a big deal about teaching you all this stuff!" Gerry continued, getting worked up. "So you can actually survive this place! That doesn’t happen if you start trusting avatars!” </p><p>“I- I’m sorry," Michael was stuttering and he willed himself to strengthen his voice. It didn't really work. "I- I really didn’t think he wanted to hurt me.” He bit his lip as he felt the pinpricks in his eyes that told him he would be crying any second now. </p><p>Gerry’s eyes softened and he took Michael’s hand and didn’t even comment on how it was still a bit sticky from the candy, which Michael thought was nice of him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled.”</p><p>“S’ok.” Michael still didn't look up.</p><p>“No, it wasn’t my place. I’m sorry. Me being worried doesn’t give me the right to treat you like you can’t think for yourself, even if some people-” Michael could tell Gerry was holding back another rant about Ms. Robinson “keeping her assistants ignorant and vulnerable” and gave his hand a little squeeze to show his gratitude. </p><p>“And you’re right,” Gerry continued, tone lighter and thumb gently rubbing the back of Michael’s hand. “Gertrude would kick his frail old man ass if he did anything to any of you here in the Institute.”</p><p>Gerry took a breath and Michael finally looked up to watch him push down his fear and frustration to smile at Michael. God, he didn’t deserve someone who took such good care of him. He smiled back anyway.</p><p>“I could go find your candy and wash it off, if you want,” Gerry offered, eyes twinkling. “I think it flew under Emma’s desk…”</p><p>“No need.” Michael hesitated, then reached in his cardigan pocket and pulled out two more Werther’s and offered one to Gerry, who arched an eyebrow at him. </p><p>Michael shrugged. “He carries a lot of them.”</p><p>Gerry laughed and came around to Michael’s side of the desk, leaning back against it. “Of course he does.” </p><p>Michael pressed his leg against Gerry’s and felt a bit of the tension that had quickly worked its way through his body release.</p><p>“I suppose if you have to pick an avatar to befriend, it may as well be that one.” Gerry continued, teasingly. “I don’t think he’s even properly killed anyone, now that you mention it. He’s more like the guy on a Ferris Wheel who makes the car rock a lot and cackles at you when you get freaked out…”</p><p>Michael propped an arm on his desk, resting his cheek on his hand and looking up at Gerry, who was now acting out one of Mr. Fairchild’s escapades in an obvious attempt to smooth over the small fight. Michael felt himself relax under Gerry’s teasing and silliness. He felt a glow of gratitude and love and reached out, stopping Gerry mid-monologue and tugging him into his lap.</p><p>Gerry glanced at Emma’s empty desk and then the door. “Are you sure?” he asked, easing himself down into Michael’s chair. Michael was uncomfortable with affection at the Institute, usually, but today he didn’t care. He wanted to show Gerry how appreciated he was, to repay his tenderness and care. </p><p>He wound his arms around Gerry’s waist and squeezed. “Yes,” he said simply.</p><p>Gerry grinned and the sunlight through the window shone on his face, making his dark eyes sparkle and his piercings glint. Michael arched up to kiss him and then buried his cold nose in the crook of Gerry’s neck, breathing in the scent of his warm skin. </p><p>Gerry laughed and ran a hand into Michael’s hair, tugging it loose from its bun and letting out a quiet sigh when he could get his fingers into it, winding them through Michael’s curls. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, into Michael’s hair. “Really I am.”</p><p>“Me too,” came Michael’s muffled reply. “Now let me make it up to you.” </p><p>“No, that’s not-” Gerry started to protest, but cut himself off with a gasp as Michael trailed open-mouth kisses up Gerry’s neck and along his jaw, pressing his fingers into Gerry’s back. He felt Gerry lean back and look at him. He supposed this wasn’t typical Michael-at-work behavior, but, well.</p><p>“Michael, you’re sure?”</p><p>Michael leaned back in to catch his lips in another kiss. “Yes,” he said against them. “Stop asking and kiss me.”</p><p>Gerry hummed with pleasure and returned the kiss. Michael shivered under the heat of Gerry’s mouth and reached out to cup his hand under Gerry’s jaw, gently stroking his cheek with a thumb. Michael felt Gerry’s body relax, content, against him and Michael’s heart swelled with pride that he could make someone feel like this. He darted his tongue out to lick Gerry’s lovely, full bottom lip and Gerry responded with a pleased sound and a hand against the back of Michael’s head, angling him to deepen the kiss. </p><p>Michael squirmed a bit in his seat, enjoying the weight of Gerry in his lap. He slid his hands up under Gerry’s jacket and shirt and raked his fingernails against Gerry’s warm back.</p><p>“Fuck, Michael,” Gerry groaned against Michael’s mouth. Feeling bold, he did something he’d been longing to do and got his lips around one of Gerry’s lip piercings and gave it a gentle suck. Gerry nearly fell out of Michael’s lap in shock, but recovered quickly and returned the kiss enthusiastically. </p><p>After a minute, he leaned back to take Michael in. Michael beamed back at him, feeling very satisfied with himself. Suddenly, Gerry started laughing. </p><p>“What?” asked Michael, still smiling.</p><p>“My lipstick. It’s, well. Everywhere.”</p><p>Michael’s eyes grew wide and Gerry leaned back in to gently kiss the shock off his face. “Relax,” he said against Michael’s mouth. “I’ll clean you up. And then,” he leaned in further, lips brushing Michael’s ear, “Maybe you can leave a little early. Maybe we can both leave a little early.”</p><p>Michael hesitated and quickly decided he’d stayed late enough times to justify leaving 30 minutes early. He nodded and Gerry reached behind him to grab a make-up wipe from his bag. True to his word, he cleaned all the lipstick off, but insisted on leaving a single black kiss shape, just under Michael’s shirt collar. As they left the Institute together, Michael could still feel Gerry’s lips on his collarbone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Gerry throws some knives and has a panic attack.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW for said panic attack.<br/>Also this chapter is both short and angsty, I'm sorry! Chapter 5 is nearly done though and has both action and Nice Moments so hang in there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The knife hit the wooden fence at the end of the alley with a satisfying <i>thunk</i> just above the bullseye on Gerry’s chalk target. Michael put his sandwich down to burst into enthusiastic applause from his perch on a pile of crates from yesterday’s book shipment to the Institute library. He was on his lunch break and had asked for a demonstration of Gerry’s famed knife throwing skills and, well. Gerry was helpless before those big gray eyes and that sweet gap-toothed grin. </p><p>“That was amazing!” Michael gushed. “Your aim is incredible!”</p><p>Gerry gave him a lopsided smile as he pulled the knife out of the beleaguered fence. “I’m not too bad.” He was being modest, but Michael’s praise was always so effusive that it felt a bit unearned.</p><p>“Nope, I won’t hear a word of it! You are really good; not a single one of those throws has gotten outside the inner two circles!” </p><p>“It’s just practice, is all.”</p><p>“Hm.” Michael hopped off the crates and joined Gerry at the fence to inspect the target. Gerry leaned over and took a bite of the sandwich in his hands, smirking at his glare. </p><p>“Just as I suspected,” Michael said solemnly. ”There are almost no marks on the outer rings. And all the marks are nice and deep. Clearly even your previous throws didn’t bounce off the fence, but dug in.” He raised his eyebrows at Gerry and pretended to smoke a pipe. “I am forced to deduce that you have always been skilled in knife throwing. A child prodigy, if you will.”</p><p>Gerry grimaced a bit at that, but paired it with an eye roll, passing it off as teasing Michael for his dramatics. No need to ruin a nice lunch with childhood trauma. Had he actually been a child prodigy, he might not have that scar on his forearm, nor the burn on his back. </p><p>“Brilliant, Sherlock; you’ve figured me out.” He held up the knives. “Do you want to try?”</p><p>Michael made a very skeptical face.</p><p>“C’mon, it’s fun,” Gerry insisted, steering Michael back a few yards and positioning him in front of the target. </p><p>“Okay, just… don’t expect a lot. This isn’t really my… area”</p><p>“Of course not,” Gerry replied easily. “Just for fun.”</p><p>“Okay.” Michael sounded placated. “How do I stand?”</p><p>“Like this.” Gerry demonstrated and Michael moved to match him.</p><p>“Almost.” Gerry stood in front of Michael and tilted his hips and moved his left leg just a bit. “There. Is your balance centered?” </p><p>“Mm hm.”</p><p>Gerry leaned in to get right in Michael’s face. “You sure?” he asked huskily. Michael’s eyes twinkled, but before he could say anything, Gerry pushed forward, kissing him and pushing him back. Michael tipped, but didn’t lose his balance and instead kissed back, smiling against Gerry’s mouth. </p><p>Gerry stepped back into his own space, grinning. “Excellent stance.”</p><p>Michael laughed that bubbly laugh that Gerry loved. “Do you teach all your students how to throw like this?”</p><p>“Oh, absolutely. I have a very… hands-on style.” With this he slid his hands around Michael’s waist to give his ass a squeeze. </p><p>Michael gave a little yelp and batted him away. “I’ll never learn anything with all these distractions.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. So, remember your punching motion?”</p><p>“Yup.” </p><p>“This is really similar. You still want the step and the follow-through with your arm. Only you also want a very little flick in your wrist at the end.” Gerry motioned and Michael mimicked him. After a few times, he had it.</p><p>“Excellent! Okay, so here is your knife.” Gerry handed one over.</p><p>“Do I hold the knife part or the handle part?”</p><p>“Either one is fine, these are equally balanced. You typically hold the lighter end, if they aren’t.”</p><p>Michael delicately gripped the blade and Gerry made some finger adjustments.</p><p>“Okay, ready?”</p><p>Michael nodded.</p><p>“Then my final advice is you want to throw harder than you think you will to make it stick.”</p><p>Michael narrowed his eyes at the target, took a breath, and flung the knife as hard as he could. The butt of the handle bounced off the fence and it skittered back at them, causing Michael to jump back in alarm. </p><p>“That was actually really good!” </p><p>Michael looked skeptical.</p><p>“No, it was; getting the rotations right is the hardest part, but your form was good and you put a lot of strength behind it.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, let me try again!”</p><p>Gerry grinned and passed him another knife, which bounced off blade-wise this time. </p><p>They passed the rest of Michael’s lunch break that way, taking turns with the knives. It took a solid 15 minutes, and a couple instances of Gerry having to jump the fence to retrieve a particularly wild throw, but when Michael finally got one to stick in the fence, he jumped up in the air and let out a huge whoop and then wrapped Gerry in a hug and spun him around, beaming down at him. </p><p>“Very impressive,” said Gerry, winding his arms around Michael’s neck and tugging him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. Michael, predictably, blushed. “You know,” he continued, kissing down his jaw, “There’s something very sexy about a man who can handle his knives.”</p><p>“Mm, don’t I know it,” Michael responded, tipping his head back and running his fingers lightly up and down Gerry’s back.</p><p>“But then,” Gerry continued, giving a gentle suck to the skin where neck met shoulder, “There are plenty of sexy things about you, aren’t there sweetheart?”</p><p>“Gerry…” Michael said, with a warning in his voice. Still, his shiver was unmistakable. Gerry looked up at him, expression innocent through his eyelashes. He knew very well the effect pet names had on Michael. </p><p>“Michael…” he mimicked, a little more breathy than Michael’s whine had been.</p><p>Just then, Michael’s watch beeped the hour. Gerry reached up to give Michael one final quick kiss. “Come on. I’ll walk you back up.”</p><p>“You… are the worst,” Michael said, still a bit dazed. </p><p>“God, I really am, aren’t I?” Gerry agreed, twining their fingers together and heading for the back door to the Institute. “You did do really well today, though. Do you want to try it again sometime?”</p><p>“I guess. I don’t know that it will come that much in handy, though; I still have yet to put my excellent new punching skill to use.”</p><p>“A tragic state of affairs which I am NOT losing sleep over, if I’m honest.” Michael had gone to follow up on statements, of course, like any assistant, and once or twice Gertrude had sent them both to investigate something potentially more exciting. But there had been no other close encounters with the Entity-affiliated for Michael, for which Gerry was incredibly grateful. </p><p>“Sure… but it would be cool to do it at least once. Maybe save <i>your</i> life one of these days.” Michael nudged him with his shoulder. </p><p>Gerry looked affronted. “And steal my knight-in-shining-armor role? No way. Besides, you make a prettier damsel in distress.”</p><p>Michael’s cheeks went pink. Gerry idly wondered if Michael would still blush so easily when they were old men and was immediately brought up short by the idea. Imagining them together that far in the future was already a whole thing (<i>we’ve only been dating for like two months, what the</i> fuck<i>??</i>), but even assuming he’d live past 30 was new territory for Gerry. </p><p>Michael didn’t notice, since they’d reached the archive bullpen anyway. “Farewell to my field agent lifestyle,” he was saying wistfully. “Ended before it began.”</p><p>“Cheers to that,” Gerry said with a salute, and headed into the archival library for some research and a spot of emotional processing.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Later that afternoon, when Gerry was rooting around in Gertrude’s desk drawer for a lighter — his was empty — and found a file with Michael’s name on it, he didn’t even think before opening it. When he saw the red-circled words and the notes in Gertrude’s tidy handwriting, his heart dropped to his stomach. </p><p>“She wouldn’t,” he said feebly, knowing even as he did that she absolutely would. That she already <i>had</i>, with other people and other rituals. If that’s what it would take... And Gerry didn’t even disagree with her, when it came down to it. The Trolley Problem wasn’t as fucking complex as everyone pretended it was, not when it stopped being theoretical. </p><p>But this was Michael. </p><p>Gerry dropped the folder on the center of Gertrude’s desk and grabbed a slip of paper and a red pen. </p><p>
  <i>Find another way, or I’ll tell him how to leave and never speak to you again. </i>
</p><p>He looked at the desk with his handiwork, left out a ragged breath, and stormed out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Gertrude never said anything, but a couple weeks later she left for Russia with a woman Gerry had never seen before. Gerry didn’t ask questions or meet their eyes. He walked straight to Michael’s desk, pushed the folder he was holding down, leaned in, and kissed him deeply. </p><p>He felt Michael smile into it, even though Michael pulled away after a moment, face scarlet. </p><p>“Good morning to you, too,” Michael said, resting a pink cheek on his hand and grinning at Gerry. His grin fell when he noticed the frantic expression on Gerry’s face, though. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just happy to see you!” Gerry pasted on a smile, but even he knew his voice was too loud, too insistent. He had been so good about hiding his fear from Michael these past two weeks, but the relief was somehow harder.</p><p>Michael frowned at him. Gerry couldn’t blame him; he must look a mess. He wiped a futile finger under each eye, attempting to mop away stray makeup. </p><p>“Just tired. What are you working on?”</p><p>Micahel twisted his mouth in discomfort, clearly torn between concern and respecting Gerry’s wishes. The former won out, for once.</p><p>“Your hands are shaking, Gerry. Please… please tell me what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing! Really, it’s really nothing. Nothing bad is happening, so there is no reason to be upset. I just want to sit with you and hear about your day.” He looked directly into Michael’s eyes, expression pleading. “Okay?”</p><p>Michael exhaled a held breath. “Yes, of course that’s okay.”</p><p>Gerry fell into a chair next to him and Michael, always obliging, started telling him about the statement he was following up on. They both got panic attacks sometimes, so this wasn’t new, but the steady thrum of Michael’s voice and boring details about phone calls and records weren’t calming Gerry down or distracting him. If anything, he was spiraling even more. The more his attention was drawn to Michael — the animated way his hands moved when he talked, or the way his freckles were coming back into focus as his blush from the kiss died down, or the plaid bowtie he had put on this morning, oh my god he was such an adorable dork — all of that reminded Gerry of how close he had come to losing him. Sure, he’d chased Gertrude off this time, but who knows when next time would come? Or even if Gertrude didn’t do it, maybe the next thing she sent them to investigate would be more trouble than Gerry could handle? Or, who knew when one of the monsters he was constantly pissing off took things a little more super villain than just fighting Gerry back? The image of Michael at home by himself, sleeping peacefully while something crawled it’s way into his flat lodged in Gerry’s mind, the picture crystal clear. His stomach turned and he thought he might be physically sick from it. </p><p>“Do you want to move in with me?” he burst out instead, cutting Michael off mid-word.</p><p>Michael stared at him in shock. </p><p>“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Gerry stood up so abruptly that the chair tipped on two legs before it clattered back down. “That was crazy, don’t answer that."</p><p>“I’d like that.” Michael’s voice was too quiet for Gerry to hear, as he was now frantically pacing the room and gesticulating wildly as he kept talking:</p><p>“I just, I don’t know, there is so much going on, and I know you’re learning and everything but I still-”</p><p>“Gerry-”</p><p>“I just would feel better if I knew where you were and that you were safe, and-”</p><p>“<i>Gerry.</i>”</p><p>“But I totally understand; my problem, right? You don’t want to uproot your <i>whole life</i>, we’ve only even been dating for like three months, so it really isn’t-”</p><p>Michael stood up and came around the desk, catching one of Gerry’s hands in mid-flight and slipping his own into it. Gerry flinched violently, jerking his hand back and looking directly at Michael for the first time, panic in his eyes.</p><p>He opened his mouth, wanted to say something, but instead he spun on his heel, and raced out the door, coat flapping behind him. </p><p>Michael stood, stunned, hand still held out in midair. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Michael found him in the courtyard of the Institute, chain smoking. Gerry watched him through the little window on the door to the archives: he’d spent the last 10 minutes approaching it, peering out, getting nervous and leaving, before returning to do it all again. Gerry felt terrible about letting him keep it up, especially because he knew Michael well enough by now to know that he needed comfort for himself just as much as he wanted to give it to Gerry. </p><p>But what was he supposed to say? Was he going to get into his fucking <i>childhood</i>? Michael didn’t deserve to even just hear about the nightmare that was. Or how about Gertrude’s willingness to sacrifice anyone for the greater good? That would go over great; Michael already felt torn between Gertrude and Gerry when they disagreed on something small, he’d definitely be ready to believe his kindly old boss was going to throw him into the fucking <i>Spiral</i>. Oh, or how about the fact that Michael could never leave the Institute without losing his fucking <i>eyes</i>? Great, fantastic, not fucking traumatizing at all. Or maybe they could talk about how even if Michael could opt out of this life, Gerry would never stop doing this stupid, terrifying, exhilarating job? How he wouldn’t stop putting Michael in danger, if doing so let him save even one person, if it let him balance out even a fraction of the horror his mother had unleashed. That he had helped her unleash. He let out an incoherent sound of rage and frustration and kicked at a pile of the late October leaves, scattering them around the courtyard.</p><p>In the end, he couldn’t find the words to say any of that. What else was new? So he just lit another cigarette and watched Michael walk back and forth from the door, each of them desperate to reach each other across an unbridgeable divide.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Gerry stood outside Michael’s flat at one in the morning, fist hovering uncertainly over the door, a perfect mirror of Michael earlier that afternoon. After spending a few hours tossing and turning in bed, he’d decided he might as well try to talk it out - a decision he was reconsidering now he was actually here. After a minute, he dropped his hand without knocking and let his forehead fall against the door instead, with a gentle thud. </p><p>“Michael,” he said quietly, not expecting a response. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Michael must be asleep, and who was Gerry to wake him? Michael had had a relatively normal life so far, by Gerry’s standards. He had parents who cared about him, even if they were distant. He was friendly, and people liked him. His anxiety was of a normal sort, not the trauma of an abusive serial psychopath mother and a murdered father and a lonely. friendless childhood. He had a few encounters with Entities, but nothing compared to Gerry. If only he’d never joined the fucking Institute, Gerry would leave in a second to keep him safe. He would anyway, if he could trust Gertrude to do it for him.</p><p>Incredibly, embarrassingly, Gerry began to cry, forehead still against the door, hair falling in a curtain around his face as if to guard him from the empty hallway.</p><p>“Gerry?” a soft voice came from the other side of the door.</p><p>“Yeah.” Gerry’s throat was raspy.</p><p>“Can- can I open the door?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Michael opened the door. He was dressed for bed, but it was clear he hadn’t been sleeping either. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and he wound his fingers restlessly in the hem of his tee shirt. Gerry felt something inside him crack at the sight. He had done this and he didn’t know how to make it right. </p><p>He pushed all that down, with more effort than the habit usually required, and stepped forward into Michael’s flat. He opened his arms and Michael stepped into them, body relaxing into his embrace with a sigh that came from hours of tension. Gerry’s gut twisted further. </p><p>He rubbed Michael’s back soothingly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.</p><p>“Me too,” Michael responded.</p><p>Gerry leaned back. “No, Michael. You know you have nothing to apologize for, right? That you did nothing wrong? That you have never done anything wrong in your life?” </p><p>Michael’s lips were pressed together and he was shaking his head vigorously. Gerry took a breath. This was not a problem that words could fix anyway.</p><p>“Okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around Michael again and resting his head against his chest. “Okay. I accept your apology.”</p><p>Michael let out a sigh and rested his head on Gerry’s. “Me too.”</p><p>They stayed like that for a few minutes before Gerry leaned back again. “I’m sorry to come here so late. I just wanted to see you. I should go.” </p><p>Michael made a move to grab Gerry’s hand, then aborted it and clasped the hand with his other instead. “If- if that’s what you want…” he said. </p><p>“I thought you might want to get some sleep.”</p><p>“Well, yes, I do. But…”</p><p>Gerry looked him up and down. “Do you want me to stay?”</p><p>“Would you? Please?” Michael’s voice was uncertain.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerry said, scrubbing the back of his head and giving Michael a tentative smile, the first since their lunch together. “I’d like that.”</p><p>They fell asleep looking at one another, bodies like two parentheses, fingers loosely tangled together, wordless.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Michael eavesdrops and gets a present.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay, y'all. This chapter kicked my butt and I re-wrote big sections of it twice. I'm pretty happy with it now though! And by happy, I mean, there is violence and angst... But Chapter 6 is basically done; I just need to tweak it to make sure it's still the logical conclusion to what this fic has evolved into (I wrote that chapter first). So hopefully just a couple days!</p>
<p>CW: fight scenes, including fisticuffs, canon-typical Desolation bullshit, and gun violence. I don't think it's gory enough to warrant the tag, but please let me know if you think I'm wrong and I'll add it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They did move in together, in the end. Michael never got a straight answer out of Gerry about what prompted it, but there was plenty of stuff that Michael never got a straight answer out of Gerry about, and he’d rather just deal with it than risk Gerry getting upset with his badgering, so that was all right.</p>
<p>They also got a cat, which Michael dubbed Cat-herine, like he’d wanted to since he was a kid, which Gerry pretended wasn’t the dumbest thing he had ever heard in the world, which was nice of him. </p>
<p>That was the thing about dating Gerry; it was okay for Michael to show him himself, the weird bits that he wanted to keep hidden from everyone else. And the best part was, a lot of the time Gerry liked those parts of Michael, or at least he acted like he did. In fact, sometimes Gerry could actually be a little dorky too. He liked puns , for example. Michael would never have guessed it to look at him.</p>
<p>Gerry saw not-so-good parts of Michael though, too. The nightmares, infrequent but persistent from when Ryan was taken. The panic attacks and anxiety spirals, which had just always been there, no real rhyme or reason to them.</p>
<p>When he was little, and cried at the smallest slight, Michael’s parents would tell whoever set it off not to worry. “He’s just sensitive, poor thing.” He’d started excusing it himself as he grew up, smiling uncomfortably through tears and reassuring whoever it was that he was “just sensitive,” waving away apologies and concern and the validity of his own emotions. This seemed to frustrate Gerry. He’d say he wanted Michael to tell him if something was wrong, even if it was small. But Michael knew his emotions were a little too big, too <i>much</i> for most people. He’d rather Gerry get mad at him sometimes than Michael scare him away. </p>
<p>It wasn’t that bad, anyway, because for the most part, dating Gerry was amazing. It had been nearly three months now and, as far as Michael was concerned, Gerry absolutely hung the moon. They hadn’t stopped the little dates to the park or the pub down the street, but since moving into Michael’s flat with him, their relationship had taken a decidedly domestic turn that was fulfilling Michael’s wildest dreams. Michael reveled in the delight of falling asleep to the sounds of Gerry’s soft snores every night and waking up to his sleepy smiles every morning. </p>
<p>Plus, it turned out Gerry wasn’t just an occasional-fancy-dinner cook - he seemed to really like doing it every day. Most of the boxes he’d brought over were kitchen things: a nice set of knives, nesting prep bowls, even a Dutch oven. Soon, Michael was coming home to Gerry cooking something most nights. He was really worried for a week or so, certain that he was inconveniencing Gerry, but when he went home for a rare weekend visit to his parents’ and came back to leftovers in the fridge, he realized that Gerry really did cook a proper dinner for himself most every night.</p>
<p>“I just like it,” Gerry said, when Michael admitted to his realization. “It’s kind of relaxing, you know?”</p>
<p>“I like it too.” Michael smiled into the creamiest macaroni and cheese he’d ever had, before getting up to tackle the dishes, while Gerry curated the experience with a playlist. Splashing suds at Gerry’s grinning face to the sounds of screamed lyrics and aggressive guitars was one of the many joys that now made up Michael’s life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A couple weeks later found Michael curled up in a dusty corner of the archive’s filing room, digging through a box. This area was somehow even more disorganized that usual, but he was sure he’d seen the statement he needed here just the other day. Surely a thorough sweep would turn it up. </p>
<p>He heard the door open and Gerry and Ms. Robinson’s voices, mid-conversation. He struggled to uncross his stiff legs and stand, but before he could, he heard his name.  </p>
<p>“—haven’t forgotten what you nearly did to Michael.” That was Gerry’s voice. But what was he talking about?</p>
<p>“<i>Nearly</i> being the operative word.” Ms. Robinson responded, sounding as forbidding as ever. Sometimes she seemed to soften a bit around Gerry, though, and she did now. “And you were right, in the end. He is an excellent researcher.”</p>
<p>Michael’s heart swelled with pride. Ms. Robinson had never said that to him before. He should really let them know he was here though… but maybe it would be awkward now, since he heard them talking about him. Ms. Robinson wasn’t one to give compliments, so she might be uncomfortable with him overhearing.</p>
<p>“Don’t try to distract me, old lady,” Gerry said. Michael was always a little awed at how he talked to Ms. Robinson, and he sounded actually angry this time, not just his usual sarcasm and irreverence. “The point is, I can’t trust you.”</p>
<p>“You can trust that my motivations are, as they always have been, the same as yours. You can trust me to get the job done.”</p>
<p>Gerry sighed heavily and there was a long silence. “What is it then?” he asked finally.</p>
<p>“The Desolation.”</p>
<p>“Ugh.” There was a sound that was probably Gerry kicking something in frustration. </p>
<p>“Quite. While they aren’t preparing a ritual, they are growing restless about my longevity.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t we all?” muttered Gerry, resentfully. Michael gave a little gasp from his hiding spot.</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson ignored Gerry and continued: “They are preparing an attempt to sever the connection between Agnes and I.” Michael wracked his brain and came up with an unnaturally young and beautiful face from the murder board. The Desolation’s messiah, supposedly. Gerry had mentioned a connection to Ms. Robinson, but he hadn’t known many details when he’d told Michael about it...</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>“Though, I do think they’re… you know.” Gerry had waggled his eyebrows. </i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Michael had looked at him blankly. </i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Gerry’s smirk deepened and he leaned against Michael on the couch to nudge him and do some more eyebrow waggling. “You know,” he said again.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Michael let out a shocked giggle. “No way! Ms. Robinson is old enough to be her grandmother!”</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>“Sure, now she is. But they were bonded ages ago; Agnes is basically as old as Gertrude.”</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Michael looked skeptical. </i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>“I dunno for sure,” Gerry said, holding up his hands as if to ward off rebuttals. “I’m just saying, sometimes the way she talks about her…”</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Michael could feel the uncomfortable grimace his face was making. </i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>“Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll stop making you imagine Gertrude’s sex life.”</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Michael finally broke and let out a horrified squeal, diving at Gerry in an attempt to cover his mouth, until they were both dissolving in a pile of laughter.</i>
  </p>
</blockquote>“Can they do that? Actually sever it?” Gerry’s voice shook Michael out of the memory. His anger seemed to give way to curiosity at least, Michael thought, relieved. He hated it when Ms. Robinson and Gerry were angry with one another. Michael peeked around the corner at this point, sharing Gerry’s curiosity enough to push aside his guilt at eavesdropping. Ms. Robinson and Gerry never talked openly like this in front of him. Even though Gerry was insistent that Michael learn, he did his actual strategizing with Ms. Robinson. Michael assumed it was just habit, but he’d be lying if he didn’t feel… left out, as foolish as it sounded.<p>“I’d rather not find out,” Ms. Robinson responded with a grimace, “since it would likely result in my death, either as its main goal or inadvertently.”</p>
<p>“Right. What’s it look like, then?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“You got a location? A date? Anything useful?”</p>
<p>“Agnes is… vague. I suspect she wants me to know, but feels it would be a betrayal to actually give me any details.”</p>
<p>“Hm, trouble in paradise then?” </p>
<p>Michael couldn’t see Gerry, but he could see Ms. Robinson’s frosty expression. </p>
<p>Gerry sighed. “Whatever. So what can I do about it then?”</p>
<p>“You can stop it, Gerard,” Ms. Robinson’s voice was cold; she had lost patience. “I don’t need to tell you how much power having Agnes Montague unencumbered could give The Lightless Flame and how dangerous that could be for us all.”</p>
<p>Gerry was pacing and when he stopped to look at Ms. Robinson, Michael could see that he had narrowed his eyes. </p>
<p>“No, you don’t. And what about you? What will you be doing to keep this “severing” from going down?”</p>
<p>“I have already reached out to the Web. Hopefully they continue to have a vested interest in maintaining the bond. But while I can assist you in research and attempt to glean more details from Agnes, I can hardly risk approaching them right now. Until we understand their plan is, physical access to me could only increase their chance of success.”</p>
<p>Gerry sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Yeah, of course.”</p>
<p>“I understand that you are upset with me, Gerard, and I understand why. I’m asking you to do this because I trust in both your abilities and dedication. You can do this.”</p>
<p>Gerry took a deep breath in. “Yeah. Okay. I guess I can go out and go some digging. If nothing else, it’ll be worth it to piss those fuckers off.”</p>
<p>“I agree wholeheartedly. In the meantime, I’ll have Michael pull up some of the statement-givers’ experiences with Miss Montag-”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Gerard, be reasonable.”</p>
<p>“They’re too dangerous. He shouldn’t be involved.”</p>
<p>“Like it or not, Michael is an employee of this Institute. And, threatening notes aside, you know he can’t quit.”</p>
<p>“Fine!” Gerry threw his arms up in frustration. “Fine. Let him pull files. But he can’t go in there with me, Gertrude, they’d eat him alive.” Gerry’s voice took on a note of pleading at the end and Michael’s heart wrenched for his unhappiness even as he felt frustrated by Gerry’s lack of faith in him.</p>
<p>“Much as you seem to believe the contrary, I do not revel in throwing my assistants into deadly situations they cannot get out of. I have no intention of sending Michael to disrupt the Lightless Flame. I wouldn’t send you alone, either, if it could be helped.”</p>
<p>Gerry was silent for a long minute, just looking at Ms. Robinson. When he spoke, his voice was low, in the way Michael recognized when Gerry was holding something back. “I almost believe you mean that.”</p>
<p>Gertrude sighed. “As you prefer, Gerard.”</p>
<p>Gerry took that as the dismissal it was and left. Michael heard the clunk of his boots disappear down the hallway.</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson took a breath in and then said, “You can come out, Michael.”</p>
<p>Michael started; he’d been so sure he hadn’t made a sound. “I— I’m really sorry, Ms. Robinson!” he said, getting up carefully, as pins and needles ran up and down his stiff legs. “I wasn’t sure—”</p>
<p>“Nevermind, Michael. I suppose you know, then, that I’d like you to pull any files that directly reference Agnes Montague or Hill Top Road.”</p>
<p>Michael nodded.</p>
<p>“Good. Thank you.” She turned to leave and Michael’s head spun with the many questions and worries that she apparently wasn’t going to address. He helplessly latched on to the first that came into his head.</p>
<p>“Why can’t I quit?”</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson paused and, after a moment, said, “Do you want to quit?”</p>
<p>“Well, no, but—”</p>
<p>“Then there’s no problem.”</p>
<p>Michael usually wouldn’t have pressed the point, but Gerry had been encouraging him to stand up for himself more and he had so many questions from that conversation. He had sort of latched on to this one as one thing he could get answered. So he went against his nature and best judgment and stood his ground. “There may not be a problem, but I… I deserve to know if I can’t. Don’t I?” There. He lost a bit of confidence at the end there, but was proud of himself all the same.</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson actually turned around now, and looked him up and down. “You cannot quit because when you signed a contract to accept this job, you also pledged yourself to the Eye. I gather Gerard has told you what that is.”</p>
<p>Michael nodded.</p>
<p>“And that this Institute is aligned with it?”</p>
<p>Michael nodded again. </p>
<p>“As part of that contract, you cannot quit this job. If you fail to come here for work, you will begin to feel sick. You will work here until you die, Michael. As will I.”</p>
<p>Michael opened his mouth to respond to that, but found he had no idea what to say. </p>
<p>After a beat, Gertrude said, “Let me know when you gather those statements.” And walked out the door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Gerry had no trouble keeping his past and connection to the Entities a secret, Michael was much more of an open book, so he was only home for about 15 minutes before confessing what he overheard to Gerry. Gerry was upset at first, but after Michael’s insistence that he knew his strengths and was much more confident researching and preparing than running into a fire cult ritual, guns blazing, Gerry calmed down and accepted his help. </p>
<p>For his part, Michael was still processing his life sentence to the Institute. Part of him wished Gerry had told him about it earlier and couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t. At the same time, he was terrified at the idea of his boyfriend facing off with a bunch of arson cultists, so he decided to tackle one problem at a time. He was determined to aim the full force of his research powers at the Desolation problem, hoping they could find a solution to stop things before they started. After that, there would be plenty of time to figure out this “dedicated to The Eye” thing. </p>
<p>The next week included a lot of lugging boxes of files home on the Underground and staying up late with Gerry poring through them. Even with all the worry, though, spending time with Gerry, doing something that he was genuinely skilled at felt good. These late night work sessions turned into Gerry and Michael armed with a beer and a bowl of Gerry’s stir fry, spreading files all over their coffee table and running theories by each other, as Cat-herine picked her way delicately through the chaos to beg for pieces of chicken. It was comfortable, even fun.</p>
<p>“Okay, wait,” Michael said, after about an hour with nothing but the sounds of paper flipping. </p>
<p>“What?” asked Gerry, looking up blearily; it had gotten pretty late and he looked ready to call it a night.</p>
<p>“Well, Ms. Robinson said that she hadn’t suffered any ill effects from that man disturbing the ritual site in Scotland last year, right?”</p>
<p>“Right, and the Desolation don’t even seem to be targeting it. Gertrude said she would know if they’d come anywhere near it.”</p>
<p>“Right. But think about why it’s so strong.”</p>
<p>Gerry looked at him blankly. “Because the Web is really intense?”</p>
<p>Michael grinned. “That’s part of it. But also because it’s not just the two of them bound together up there—it’s also deeply bound to the land. Earth, water, branches of trees and things, even the air.”</p>
<p>Gerry was nodding. “Mm, yes, and everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.”</p>
<p>“You’re hilarious,” said Michael, rolling his eyes, with a grin. “But actually, that’s my point—it wouldn’t. Change, I mean. I suspect that even if they did try to use fire against the site, it would only strengthen it, because of the way the Web incorporated the natural world. And if they know—”</p>
<p>“Oh!” said Gerry, getting excited now. “I actually think they do know!” He leaned as far forward as he could while technically still sitting on the couch and dug under a stack of papers to pull out a statement from a few months previous. “I thought it was a Web thing or a Spiral thing; there’s so much bullshit at that house, but now I think it must be Desolation…” </p>
<p>He flipped impatiently through the paperwork and let out an “ah-ha!” when he found what he was looking for. “Look at what this woman says about that big tree. The way these little “nests” are described sounds an awful lot like Gertrude’s glass bottles… just waiting for a photo. It sounds like they’re going to try replacing the bond instead of breaking it.” He looked up at Michael and cocked his head. “Can they do that, d’you think?”</p>
<p>Michael twirled his pen and furrowed his brow, considering. “Maybe. Based on these other statements about the Scotland ritual,”—he motioned to some files that were heavily highlighted—“Ms. Robinson’s connection, or lack thereof, might be a weakness. If they mirror the ritual in Scotland, the fact that Agnes’ connection to Hill Top Road is stronger than Ms. Robinson’s to Loch Glass could supersede the existing bond, especially if they bind her instead to a Lightless Flame member.”</p>
<p>“Well I’m convinced,” said Gerry, looking at Michael impressed. </p>
<p>Michael blushed. “I wouldn’t have known without you finding that statement with the ritual set-up.”</p>
<p>“We make a great team then,” Gerry grinned, leaning across the cluttered table to kiss him. “Now we just need a plan.”</p>
<p>“I know I said I would let you go alone,” Michael began. </p>
<p>Gerry opened his mouth to argue and Michael continued, holding up a hand. “And I stand by that. But you agreed to be careful too. I want us to find a plan that will put you in the least amount of danger.”</p>
<p>“Absolutely fair,” Gerry agreed. </p>
<p>In the end, they decided that the safest thing to do would be to make subtle disruptions to the ritual: changing the elements in the nests, replacing whoever’s hair was in there with Gertrude’s, little things that the cult wouldn’t notice. That way the Lightless Flame would complete the ritual and just assume it didn’t work. Maybe they would give up. </p>
<p>“Or maybe,” Michal suggested, “They will come for Ms. Robinson directly.” </p>
<p>We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Gerry said bracingly. “And, anyway, Gertrude can take care of herself. She can!” he insisted at Michael’s skeptical look. “She’s killed avatars, Michael. She’s fine!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They decided the best course of action would be to make a few subtle disruptions each night, to minimize the chance that the cult would notice a big change. Gerry went out to Hill Top Road each night and shifted one or two things and then came home, where Michael had bought a thematically appropriate flame-related treat to celebrate. </p>
<p>On the final night, Michael stopped at the grocery store to get little frozen crème brûlée dishes on the way home from work. He had gotten the idea when he saw Gerry’s culinary blow torch, which Gerry had defended the purchase of as the intersection of his two biggest interests. </p>
<p>Michael was humming when he reached the door of the flat, arms full of groceries. He managed to turn the key and shoulder the door open without dropping everything. He dropped everything on the kitchen counter with a sigh of relief and turned around. </p>
<p>Everything went dark when a black bag was forced over his head and a hissing voice ordered him to not make a sound. To back up the threat, a white-hot hand clasped around his forearm and he felt his skin sizzle. </p>
<p>Michael stayed quiet, save for a moan of pain, as he felt other people - presumably cult members - enter the room and bind his hands. They ushered him back out the door, down the back stairs. He hoped they hadn’t left his door open, so Cat-herine didn’t get out. From the sound of it, she’d hidden under the bed for the whole ordeal. He felt rough hands pushing, prodding, and folding him until he was wedged into the trunk of a car. </p>
<p>Okay. Okay. So, clearly he and Gerry hadn’t been as sneaky as they thought they had been. That’s… well it’s not great, but they weren’t dead yet. Michael wondered if they’d captured Gerry as well. Would they take him to Hill Top Road or somewhere else? And what did they want with him? Why not just kill him? Unless they wanted to torture him first. Michael grimaced. That did seem like their M.O. He did not think he would be great with torture. Especially if, God forbid, they had Gerry too. That would be worse. </p>
<p>The car stopped. They were here, wherever that was. Michael was proud of himself. He was panicked, but he wasn’t in an anxiety spiral, not yet. Maybe he could get out of this?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Gerry arrived at Hill Top Road, forty minutes later, Michael was feeling a lot less optimistic. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So it’s you,” a woman had said as Michael was dragged into the echoey foyer of what was presumably Hill Top Road and the black bag was pulled off his head. She looked deeply unimpressed. Michael recognized her from her flashcard. A buzzcut, huge biceps, a terrifying tattoo peeking out from the back of her tank top: Jude Perry. </p>
<p>She circled Michael, appraising. Michael nervously looked around, trying to distinguish the features of the people around the edge of the dark room, but they wore cloaks and hoods. He thought it might be helpful to count them at least, though for what he had no idea. Even Gerry would struggle with more than a few cult members, especially the older ones who were stronger and more adept with their powers. There were 5, plus Jude, for all the good that information would do him.</p>
<p>Jude noticed him looking around and gave him a sharp kick on the back of his knees with heavy boots that Gerry would probably envy. Michael fell forward onto his hands and knees with a cry of pain. </p>
<p>“No need to worry about them,” Jude said, smirking. “The only person you need to worry about is that little boyfriend of yours and what’s he’s done to our ritual.”</p>
<p>Michael said nothing. Out loud, that is. In his head he was really starting to freak out. </p>
<p>Jude snapped her fingers and a flame appeared in her palm. </p>
<p>“Shy?” she asked with a sneer. “That’s fine, we’ll have you opening up in no time.” She approached Michael and he scrambled backwards, only to collide with the legs of another cult member - Diego Molina, maybe, from a quick glance up. Not that it mattered. Whoever it was grabbed his arms and twisted them painfully behind his back.</p>
<p>“Now,” Jude continued, fiery hand swinging back and forth like a pendulum, getting closer to Michael’s chest with each oscillation. “Tell us what that little shit did.” </p>
<p>Michael pressed his lips together. This was the only leverage they would have and he needed to keep it—for Gerry’s sake, if not his own. </p>
<p>“Okay then.” Jude shrugged and balled up her fist, delivering a blow that cracked Michael’s neck with its force. He screamed and it turned panicked when he tentatively touched his cheek, which felt like it was on fire. The skin was blistering. </p>
<p>Jude crossed her arms and watched, waiting a moment for him to appraise the damage. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What was that?”</p>
<p>The pain from Michael’s cheek was overwhelming and he could barely think through the haze. He struggled for clarity. “I— I don’t know!” The words seemed to stick in his throat and every movement of his mouth hurt. “I don’t know what he did, he didn’t tell me.”</p>
<p>“Hm. I doubt that.” Jude knelt down to meet Michael’s eyes. She gripped his face with one hand and tilted it to examine him, making no effort to avoid the burn. All of Michael’s muscles tensed to keep from crying out. </p>
<p>“You’ve been hanging around the old bat for a while now, haven’t you?” she said. “Don’t see how. Skinny, sweet thing like you? It wouldn’t take much to snuff you out.” </p>
<p>Michael could hardly argue with that. And it didn’t really bother him, either. After all, every second she spent talking was a second she wasn’t hitting him with her fire hands. </p>
<p>“And it would hardly be counted a loss,” Jude continued, voice thick with disdain. “What is even the point of you? Not worth the tiny space you occupy.”</p>
<p>Michael just shrugged. Sure, he wasn’t that self-disparaging, but Jude was hardly hitting any of his tender spots. He had no illusions or even ambitions of being big or powerful or important.</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes, clearly coming to the same conclusion. She snapped her fingers and the fire reappeared. Michael flinched, and oh yes, Jude seemed to like that. She clearly wanted to take him apart mentally, as well, though, because she kept talking. </p>
<p>“No, you would really be worth so much more as a sacrifice to my god. After all, look at you. So full of life, of hope. <i>Young love</i>.” She spat out that last phrase. Then she leaned close. “You and your… <i>Gerry</i>.”</p>
<p>Michael flinched hearing Gerry’s name come from her mouth. And she’d used his nickname too—“for friends,” he’d said. Michael’s heart was beating fast and he felt a fresh wave of fear creep into his veins. Gerry could be here any minute and he had no idea what would happen then. The cult members who still circled them felt it too. Michael could hear their wordless murmurs, even as their faces remained obscured by hoods and shadows.</p>
<p>“Oh?” said Jude, feigning surprise. “It seems I hit a nerve.” Michael tried to glare at her, tried to seem unafraid, but his heart was pounding and he knew he looked about as intimidating as an angry kitten. </p>
<p>“I wonder what he’d make of this?” she said pleasantly, taking a finger and flicking Michael’s burned cheek, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. “You’re not so pretty anymore, are you? Well, you won’t know; you can’t see. But you can trust me, you’re not much to look at with the scar that’ll leave. Surely Gerry can do better.”</p>
<p>Michael’s stomach twisted. He knew it was stupid—they might <i>die</i>, who cared how his <i>face</i> looked? But Gerry had always exuded so much confidence and, well, <i>sex appeal</i>. Michael knew he was out of his league even without the burn.</p>
<p>Jude’s smile grew. “Still, no accounting for taste. Maybe he would care. In fact, he might be a bit upset with me. Scared even, to see you like this. Would he be scared enough to talk, do you think?” She ran a finger down his other cheek, painfully hot but not yet burning. </p>
<p>Michael gritted his teeth and said nothing.</p>
<p>“Let’s make sure, then.”</p>
<p>She scraped the nails of both hands, hard and burning, down Michael’s chest, from sternum to belly button. </p>
<p>Michael screamed in pain, feet scrambling against the ground to push himself back, away from Jude’s hands, but Molina held his arms tight and he couldn’t move. His chest seared in pain, bleeding and blistering as he panted and Jude inspected her fingernails, looking bored.</p>
<p>“Has anything come to mind?” she asked, after a few minutes. Michael was still breathing in heavy gasps, but he looked up at her and resolutely shook his head.</p>
<p>“Suit yourself. It will be more fun once he gets here anyway. Speaking of, which.” She walked over to one of the cloaked figures and whispered in his ear. He stepped out of the circle and went out the front door. </p>
<p>“You know, I understand completely,” Jude continued, turning back to Michael, who had managed to catch his breath and mentally prepare himself for more injuries. Her voice grew hushed and intense, rough with feeling. “I know that boundless devotion, that complete relinquishing of yourself to another. To extinguish your own life for the glory of your beloved, that their light might shine that much brighter.”</p>
<p>“Actually,” she said thoughtfully, appraising him. “We have more in common that you would think. It took me time, though—a long time—to come around to relinquishing myself, to Agnes and to the Flame both. You... well. I don’t think it would take you long at all, would it?”</p>
<p>Michael grimaced. Isn’t this what Gerry kept telling him? Isn’t this what he was always doing in so many small ways, diminishing himself in making other people comfortable? What if he did do it until he was lost, until he only existed for them?</p>
<p>Jude was watching him with a hyena’s grin, teeth pointed and eyes bright with pleasure. </p>
<p>Just then, there was the sound of a crash outside, like someone had knocked over the garbage bins. Jude’s and Michael’s heads shot up simultaneously. </p>
<p>Molina spoke this time, from behind Michael. “If it’s that goth, bring him in here too, he said, indicating to two of the other cultists over Michael’s shoulder. He gave Michael’s arm a mean little twist that paired well with Jude’s predatory grin. “We can have a lovers’ reunion.”</p>
<p>Jude walked a circle around Michael, surveying him. “Maybe you’ll be more willing to talk when it’s his face on fire, hmm?”</p>
<p>Michael bit his lip until he tasted blood. If that had been Gerry outside, he needed to keep her distracted. Maybe Gerry had a plan? Maybe he’d even taken out the first cultist who’d gone outside. All Michael wanted to do right now was to yell for Gerry to rush in and save him. But he knew better. He would need to help. He gathered himself and everything he knew about the Desolation and started talking. He’d read between the lines of that Jack Barnabas statement, after all.</p>
<p>“S—speaking of lover’s reunions,” he made his voice particularly mocking in an attempt to mask the nervousness, “W—where is Agnes?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jude reacted immediately and Michael hid his satisfaction. “How dare you?” She was in his face again, eyes blazing.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry, am I, uh, being rude?” Michael was channeling Gerry now, thinking about the flippant way he spoke to Ms. Robinson when he really wanted to be childish and backtalk. “I just thought the two of you were inseparable, is all.” He finished with a quick smile, there and then suddenly not, like Gerry when he didn’t mean it.</p>
<p>Jude had controlled her expression, but she was pacing now. “Imagine thinking your insignificant disruptions are worthy of even a second of her time. The absolute gall of it. It’s laughable.” </p>
<p>She looked far from laughing, though. Michael backed off for a moment. “Of course, terribly rude of me.” He pretended to look chastened and Jude narrowed her eyes at him.</p>
<p>She opened her mouth to start in on him again, though, so he hit her with “Of course, she almost feels like family, what with Gertrude and all.”</p>
<p>Jude’s jaw dropped and she looked singed at the edges, like a piece of paper about to ignite. Michael pressed on before she could respond. “I mean,” he looked away, feigning embarrassment, “I’m sure you know how she can be.” </p>
<p>Jude stormed up to him, eyes bulging, fist raised, in his face. “Just really... affectionate.” Michael’s voice was quiet, with just a hint of intimacy. Jude’s fist connecting with his face was anything but and his head flew backwards, taking the rest of him with it and landing him flat on his back. His face burned again, hot and angry, while his head throbbed from the impact with both fist and ground. Jude gave him a hefty kick in the ribs for good measure and those boots were clearly steel-toed. While he lay groaning on the floor, his eye was caught by the flinching of one of the cult members in the circle. It was one of the two who had left to check the noise. No Gerry, then. Maybe that was for the best. </p>
<p>Molina had taken a few steps back when Jude punched him and sounded irritated. “Jude, we don’t have time for—”</p>
<p>“Get up, you pathetic Beholding servant!” Jude’s voice was loud and hoarse with rage. “We are done <i>talking</i>, even though that’s all you pitiful Eye types seem capable of.” She fell on Michael, her muscular legs holding his hips down, her arms raised in the air, hands clasped and ignited with a white-hot fire, burning eyes fixed on his chest. This was it, this was absolutely the moment he was going to die. He closed his eyes and hoped Gerry had gotten away and wouldn’t be too sad. </p>
<p>And then Jude Perry was screaming, hands returned to normal and clutching a knife that was sticking out of her chest. Michael looked around, shocked, only to find the other cult members looking around too. There was no clear assailant…</p>
<p>Until one of the members threw off their robe, revealing Gerry, armed to the teeth. He brought a bat that had been strapped to his leg down on the head of the cult member next to him and they dropped like a sack of bricks. Without missing a beat, he whirled around and leapt on the back of another, getting them in a chokehold as they stumbled around trying to throw him off. “Michael!” he yelled, eyes wide with fear.</p>
<p>Jude Perry screamed again, this time in rage, and she leapt up, running towards Gerry, already igniting her hands again. Michael threw his arms around her ankles, getting a heavy boot in the jaw, but bringing her crashing down. She kicked at him, but he had both feet in his grip and he held on like Gerry’s life depended on it. </p>
<p>Jude actually growled at him like an animal. She ignited her hands again and squirmed to get Michael’s head in arm’s reach. Thinking quickly, he tied her shoelaces together in the messiest, tightest knot he could manage in a few seconds and then let go, quickly rolling away just as she swiped at his face with her fire hands. He kept going until he was out of the circle of cultists.</p>
<p>Michael sat up and clutched the ribs that had taken Jude’s kick as he surveyed the scene. She was fighting with the knots, but would be free any minute. Gerry had knocked out two of the cultists and was now fighting with Molina, with less success. The third cultist was standing back, watching uncertainly. Still, two against three was lousy odds when Michael only knew the one mediocre punch and two of the three were Jude Perry and Diego Molina. He would need to spread them out. Gulping against the wave of nausea from his ribs, Michael stumbled to his feet and moved towards the front door. </p>
<p>“Hey. Hey! I’m, uh, getting away!” he announced to the room, before running out the door. He crossed his fingers, hoping that either Molina or Jude would follow him and that it would take them a minute to do so. Long legs aside, he was hardly in great running condition just now. </p>
<p>He was outside the house and halfway down the long driveway when he glanced back and saw both Molina and the other cultist. He breathed a sigh of relief and sped up, gritting his teeth. Should he run through the trees and houses, hoping to lose them? Or down the street, using the cover of a public space. Michael bit his lip. He didn’t want any innocent people hurt… But he needed to decide now; he was basically at the street—</p>
<p>He stopped short. At the end of the driveway was the Institute car he and Gerry had taken to the port. Ms. Robinson was leaning against it, smoking a cigarette and wearing a holster underneath her beige plaid blazer, with two revolvers in it. </p>
<p>“Good evening, Michael,” she said pleasantly, stubbing out her cigarette and unholstering a gun, which she aimed past him, at Molina. “In the backseat you’ll find a bag with some webbing. Would you get it for me?”</p>
<p>Michael’s mouth was hanging open in shock and he was only processing about half of what she’d said.</p>
<p>“Quickly, Michael,” she said sharply. He shook himself and flung open the car door, hearing Ms. Robinson yell “On your knees! Now!” as the cultists rounded the corner.</p>
<p>Michael fumbled around on the bag until he found what looked like a spool of twine, if twine were white and sticky. </p>
<p>“Ms. Robinson? Is this what you want?”</p>
<p>“Thank you Michael,” she said, eyes on where her gun was pressed against Diego Molina’s head, for all the world as if Michael was bringing her a statement she’d requested. “Tie them up please. Nice and tight, don’t be shy.” </p>
<p>“You and your meddling,” Molina grumbled at her. “You’ll pay for this.”</p>
<p>“Will I? Time will tell, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Bewildered, Michael walked over to the unfamiliar cultist and started wrapping the web tightly around them, pinning their arms to their sides. </p>
<p>“No need to worry about knots,” Gertrude said pleasantly, gun still trained on Molina. “The Mother’s strings are not easily undone. She sends her regards, of course.”</p>
<p>Molina scoffed. “You might have her alliance for now. But things will shift again. They always do.”</p>
<p>Michael finished with the unfamiliar cultist and Ms. Robinson motioned for him to start on Molina. </p>
<p>“Oh, undoubtedly. Maybe I’ll even still be alive when they do. Will Agnes, I wonder?”</p>
<p>Molina narrowed his eyes, “You wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“Maybe not. I’m not the only enemy you have, though. And I don’t need to. I can just pick off the rest of you, one by one, if you keep causing trouble.”</p>
<p>Molina lunged at her and she took a graceful step back, leaving him to fall on his face. Michael had to drag him back up, which, again, was not great on his ribs. </p>
<p>“You haven’t heard from Eugene tonight, have you, Diego?” Ms. Robinson asked softly.</p>
<p>“You fucking bitch.” Molina’s face was red with fury.</p>
<p>Gertrude gave a cold laugh. “Consider him my price for the trouble you put me through.” </p>
<p>Having finished tying up Molina, Michael was fidgeting and glancing back at the house as they traded threats and insults. Gerry was still in there.</p>
<p>“Um, Ms. Robinson? Are you okay here? Because... “ he nodded towards the house.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course, Michael, go ahead,” she said, handing him her other gun. “Lord only knows what’s taking Gerard so long.”</p>
<p>Michael stared at the gun in his hand, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Y—you aren’t going to try to, uh, stop me?”</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson gave him a questioning look. “No…” she said. “Try not to die.”</p>
<p>“Um. Will do,” said Michael and turned to run back up the driveway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gerry’s stomach twisted as he watched Michael run from the room and Molina and the other cultist follow him. Would he make it to Gertrude? What if he went the wrong way? What if he tripped or was in too much pain and Molina got to him first?</p>
<p>A low growl from Jude brought him back to the present. He whirled around to face her, face contorted in a fury. </p>
<p>“You complete asshole,” he bellowed, throwing one of his knives at Jude. She dodged easily, laughing, and the knife hit the wall behind her, digging in deep.</p>
<p>“You fucking <i>burned</i> him, you psycho.” He threw another one, aim not near his usual standard. Jude took a small step to the left and it flew past her again. She laughed louder.</p>
<p>“And I’ll do it again soon!” Her voice was full of mirth, as if Gerry’s anger was all she could want from an evening.</p>
<p>“The fuck you will!” bellowed Gerry, pulling another knife from his boot and then he threw it too, this time with a wordless shout. </p>
<p>Jude didn’t move this time, letting it sink into her, as her skin melted like hot wax around it. She pulled it back out and twirled it in her fingers. “You won’t catch me off-guard with these again, Beholder.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Gerry spat. “If I’m going to kill you, I’d rather it be more direct anyway.” He gave a dangerous smile and raised his bat, stalking forward. </p>
<p>Jude scoffed. “As if I could be worried about Mary Keay’s little brat.” She gave a disdainful glance at the two cultists on the ground and her hands burned white-hot again. “I think you’ll find me a lot tougher.”</p>
<p>Gerry was within swinging range now, and he did, aiming for her temple. Jude twisted and caught the bat with her hand, redirecting its force to the ground with the momentum of her turn. She used the movement to kick Gerry in the ribs, and knocked him back a step. </p>
<p>He regrouped, bat poised while he looked for an opening. Jude was low to the ground, eyes darting to see where he would strike next. Gerry took advantage of that, swinging the bat to try and swipe her legs out from under her by catching her knees. She jumped over the swing, but Gerry was prepared for that, switching directions quickly to catch her in the side of the head. </p>
<p>Jude stumbled back a few steps, but didn’t fall. She sneered at Gerry. “Weak. That little boyfriend of yours is making you soft. Soft and <i>slow</i>.”</p>
<p>On the last word she lunged at Gerry, hands catching his biceps and burning through his coat and then his shirt. He howled as her hands sizzled against his flesh, struggling in her grip. Jude leaned in close. “I’m going to enjoy doing this slowly,” she said.  </p>
<p>Gerry had a moment of panic. <i>Focus</i>, he chastised himself. He closed his eyes to block out the pain and Jude’s face, then reared back and head-but her. Her nose made a sickening crunch and began bleeding freely. She loosened her grip in surprise and Gerry tore himself away, groaning at the sound of tearing flesh that accompanied his release. </p>
<p>He raised his bat again, but felt himself wince as the tender skin of his arms moved against the remains of his coat. Jude didn’t miss that, and she grinned through the streaks of blood.</p>
<p>Gerry narrowed his eyes at her, tightened his grip on the bat… and turned tail and ran. He could hear her cackle behind him as he ran out the door. He hurried down the steps of the front porch and down the drive, running straight into Michael, who let out a pained “oof” when they collided. They both fell to the ground and Michael dropped the gun, which skittered across the ground to the foot of the stairs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No!” yelled Michael, scrambling towards it as Jude burst through the door and spotted it at the same time. They both lunged and Michael’s hand got their first, though Jude’s was right behind, and felt like a hot iron landing on his own. </p>
<p>Gerry had gotten up by then, though, and got a firm kick to Jude’s face under her chin. She realized a second too late and, though she did that wax melting thing to her skin and Gerry’s boot sunk in, she also took the force of the kick and fell back. </p>
<p>“Stop! burning! my boyfriend!” Gerry was yelling, punctuating each word with a kick to shake her off. Michael hurried to his feet and Gerry put a hand on his shoulder for stability. </p>
<p>“You fuck!” he added, with one final kick to shake her free. “C’mon,” he said to Michael, pulling him towards the road. </p>
<p>Michael could hear Jude following them, and then a fierce blaze of warmth at his back—apparently she could actually shoot fire?? He turned around to fire the gun vaguely behind them. His heart wasn’t in it, really; he’d never killed anyone and he wasn’t crazy about the idea. Still, maybe it would scare her or something. </p>
<p>They were about 30 meters from the car, easily in sight of Ms. Robinson and the cultists, when another of Jude’s blasts hit Gerry square in the back and he fell hard. </p>
<p>“No!” Michael shouted, turning around and aiming directly at Jude, hesitation gone. She had already loaded another blast, which caught him neatly in the hand and he dropped the gun. He dropped to the ground, where Gerry was coughing. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he asked, frantically looking Gerry over for burns. </p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s not bad. Coat took most of it.” They exchanged a look of relief, then looked up at Jude, who was now looming over them.</p>
<p>She didn’t look triumphant, though, and she wasn’t looking at them. Her gaze was on Ms. Robinson and the cultists, and her expression was panicked. </p>
<p>“Where’s Agnes?” she said, trying and failing to hide the frantic edge in her voice. </p>
<p>“Agnes is safe,” Ms. Robinson answered, face stoic, almost bored. “For my own safety, I wouldn’t hurt her...” She narrowed her eyes. “Except as a last resort. I think you know that, Judith.”</p>
<p>Jude’s mouth twisted, “If you lay a finger on her, if you so much as even think—”</p>
<p>“Consider me informed on the matter.” Ms. Robinson interrupted. “Now, I believe we have hostages to exchange.” Her gaze turned to Michael and Gerry. “Come, boys.”</p>
<p>Jude’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so, Archivist. It seems to me that you’ve messed up our plans one too many times. It seems to me—”</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson turned to the unfamiliar cultist and shot them in the head. </p>
<p>Jude screamed with rage. Michael was too shocked to react, but he felt Gerry dragging him away. Jude lunged for them, but Ms. Robinson trained her gun back on Molina. </p>
<p>“We’re done here, Judith. Give it up and leave with at least some of your dignity intact.” </p>
<p>“Okay, okay, stop!” she shouted. “You’ve done enough, we get the message. Take your little assistants and get the fuck out of here.”</p>
<p>“Come on,” Gerry said gently, slinging one of Michael’s arms across his shoulders and wincing as he leaned Michael against him. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”</p>
<p>Jude glared daggers at them, but stayed put.</p>
<p>“Gerry, I—” Michael struggled to put his thoughts together. “D—did Ms. Robinson kill that guy?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, I told you she was a badass, now come on, we gotta go.” He led them towards the car and grit his teeth in pain.</p>
<p>“Gerry, wha—oh! Your arm!” Michael started to pull away, but Gerry grunted and pulled him back.</p>
<p>“S’ok, it’s not as bad as your face. And that kick was no joke either. I’m taking you to hospital.”</p>
<p>Michael allowed himself to be led past Ms. Robinson, whose beady eyes stayed fixed on Jude, while her gun stayed pointed at the back of Molina’s head. </p>
<p>After Gerry had eased Michael into the backseat of the Institute car and gotten in the driver’s seat himself, Ms. Robinson actually pistol-whipped Molina. Michael thought the concussions might be finally getting to him and making him see things, except that Gerry whooped loudly when she did it. Michael leaned against the cool glass of the window as his adrenaline dissipated and he began to feel his collection of injuries in full force.</p>
<p>Ms. Robinson nodded to Jude, who was running towards Molina now, and climbed into the passenger’s seat. Michael craned his neck to watch Jude kneel next to Molina as Gerry peeled the car away in a screech of tires, rolling down the window and bellowing “Fuck you Jude Perry, you fucking prick!” into the night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Apparently she’d broken two of his ribs. Michael was in and out of consciousness in his hospital bed, but he saw Ms. Robinson in a chair, and felt someone rubbing salve on his burns and a bandage around his ribs and even a saline drip. At some point Gerry came in, sleeveless shirt revealing bandages around his biceps, and held Michael’s hand. Later he woke up to Ms. Robinson and Gerry having a huge argument outside his door. He remembered thinking vaguely that they probably shouldn’t be yelling things like “cultists” and “soul bond” and “sacrifice” in the middle of a hospital hallway, but he fell back asleep before he could think of how to make the suggestion to them.</p>
<p>When he woke up again, the sun was bright through his window. Gerry had fallen asleep propped up in a chair, holding Michael’s hand. His hair was tangled and his face was dirty and his makeup was smudged far more than was intentional, but he still looked so peaceful and soft as he slept that Michael’s chest tightened at the sight. Someone had draped his coat over him, and Michael could see it was completely ruined, Jude’s flame having burned all the way through in some parts of the back and the sleeves. Poor Gerry. He’d really loved that coat. Maybe Michael could find him a replacement.</p>
<p>Michael suddenly noticed how dry his throat was and reached his free hand towards a little table with a glass and pitcher of water. His movement woke up Gerry, who stretched and blinked blearily at him, squinting a bit at the bright sunshine. </p>
<p>“Morning, beautiful,” he said, turning his gaze to Michael. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Good morning! Achy and sore, mostly. And, uh, breathing kind of hurts. And this,” he motioned to the saline bag. “Is kind of creepy. But otherwise, I’m glad you’re here.” His voice went quieter. “And that you’re safe.”</p>
<p>Gerry gave him a small smile. “Me too.” He noticed Michael’s hand reaching for the water pitcher. “Here, let me.” He poured the glass and helped Michael sit up to drink it. After he finished, Michael flopped back down, exhausted, and gave a wince of pain. </p>
<p>“Be careful,” said Gerry, shuffling the pillows around him. “We need to get your healed up properly, so they let you come home.” He tucked a curl behind Michael’s ear and gave him a kiss on the forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and he stifled a yawn.</p>
<p>“Speaking of home,” Michael said, “You should go. Get some proper rest, take a shower, all that.”</p>
<p>Gerry hesitated. “I don’t want to not be here if you need something.”</p>
<p>Michael waved his concern away. “Not to worry, they gave me a button to push if I need a nurse for anything. They were very nice, at least as far as I can remember.”</p>
<p>Gerry made a face. “I would love a shower. And I haven’t been back to feed Cat-herine… you promise you’ll text if you need anything?”</p>
<p>Michael nodded.</p>
<p>“No,” said Gerry sternly, looking him in the eye. “Promise.”</p>
<p>“I promise,” said Michael solemnly. </p>
<p>“Good.” Gerry leaned in for another kiss and Michael reached up to hold him in place, drawing it out longer than a simple goodbye. Gerry carefully wound a hand in Michael’s hair and Michael stroked his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble under his fingertips. Michael parted his lips and felt Gerry’s breath, soft and wam. After a moment, Gerry pressed his forehead against Michael’s, ending the kiss but staying close. </p>
<p>“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he whispered fiercely against Michael’s lips. “If anything had happened to you—” He cut himself off, voice ragged. </p>
<p>Michael hushed him, stroking his face. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just relieved you are too.”</p>
<p>Gerry scoffed. “I’m used to this; it doesn’t matter anymore to me. But you…”</p>
<p>“Ssh. Gerry. I’m right here. Nearly good as new.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Gerry gave Michael another kiss on the forehead and leaned back. Michael missed his warmth immediately and shivered. Gerry noticed and pulled an extra blanket up from the foot of his bed. </p>
<p>“Okay,” he said, making his voice almost business-like. “Do you have everything you need? Warm enough? Enough water?”</p>
<p>Michael nodded.</p>
<p>“I’ll be back in a few hours, then. Stay out of trouble?”</p>
<p>Michael gave him a small smile and Gerry went to the door, glancing back at him one final time, as if worried Michael would disappear when he stopped looking. And then he was gone.</p>
<p>Michael let out a deep sigh and let in all the emotions and thoughts he’d been holding back since the bag came over his head the previous evening. It was going to be a long afternoon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time Gerry returned to Michael’s hospital room, bringing with him a pastrami sandwich and chips from Michael’s favorite sandwich shop, Michael was in no state to enjoy it. He thanked him, of course, profusely, and picked at the food a bit, to be polite, but it tasted like sawdust.</p>
<p>All he could think about was how everything had gone terribly wrong, and how it might go wrong again. Gerry was thinking it too, Michael could tell. He tried to talk around it, tried to keep Michael comfortable and optimistic, but the worried lines of his forehead and his still-tired eyes told Michael all he needed to know.</p>
<p>“It’s just—” Michael burst out, interrupting Gerry’s inane comment on how nice the sandwiches were, “This is the third time! You’ve had to save me three times now!” </p>
<p>“Fourth.”</p>
<p>“I don’t count the <i>Werthers</i>, Gerry.”</p>
<p>“Right, sure, uh, me neither. But to be honest, you were really holding your own.”</p>
<p>Michael scoffed.</p>
<p>“No, you were! Tying up Jude’s shoelaces was absolutely genius!”</p>
<p>“Sure, and if you hadn’t been there, I might have succeeded in getting her mad enough to actually blow me up with her brain! We both know you’re the only reason I got out of there alive.”</p>
<p>Gerry’s face fell. “I know,” he said, voice low and sad. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. I’m too much of a mess for this. And I know I can’t quit or leave or stop. But maybe you should...” Michael pressed his lips together, eyes filling with tears.</p>
<p>“Michael, hey, no.” Gerry reached out and took both his hands in his own. “That’s not what I meant. Listen, there’s… something I should tell you.”</p>
<p>Michael’s heart plummeted. This was it. Gerry had realized this wasn’t going to work, that he was sick of saving Michael or he didn’t have the patience to deal with Michael’s insecurities or all the dumb things he did and said or maybe it was the scar, like Jude’s said, or maybe just his awkwardness, or... It was okay. It would be better this way. Gerry would probably be safer, not having to worry about Michael. Isn’t this what Michael was trying to work himself up to saying, after all?</p>
<p>Gerry interrupted his thoughts with a sentence that came out of nowhere: “You can quit, actually. And... And I think you should.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“The Institute. You can quit. If you really want to. My… my dad did it. There’s a, well, a pretty big sacrifice, though.” Gerry wasn’t meeting his eyes.</p>
<p>“Well? What is it?” </p>
<p>Gerry stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and forced himself to look at Michael. “You have to blind yourself.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Michael felt his face flicker through emotions. “<i>Oh</i>.”</p>
<p>Gerry waited and his voice was gentle when he spoke again. “I know. It’s a lot.”</p>
<p>Michael was quiet for a minute, considering. Sure, the act itself would be quite gruesome and he would have to learn how to do things differently and he would miss seeing things—he felt a sharp pain at the idea of never again looking into Gerry’s soft brown eyes, ringed with his signature smudged black makeup. But. He <i>could</i> do it. Lots of people were blind and led perfectly lovely lives. No, it wasn’t the blindness that would be the problem. </p>
<p>“Would you do it?” he asked.</p>
<p>Gerry looked surprised. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“If you were in my place. Would you?”</p>
<p>Gerry’s face turned apologetic and Michael turned away, giving a soft hiss of pain at what the movement did to his chest.  </p>
<p>Because Gerry would not quit, even without the self-mutilation. Michael couldn’t understand why, didn’t even know how Gerry had gotten into this life in the first place. But he knew enough to see that it was all-consuming, that Gerry structured the whole of his life around positioning himself against the Entities, and had done since he was young. And if Gerry wouldn’t stop, how could Michael?</p>
<p>“Michael, I—” Gerry put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, carefully. Michael tensed, but didn’t shrug it off.     </p>
<p>“Will you tell me why?” he asked, refusing to let his voice break.</p>
<p>Gerry was quiet, rubbing gentle circles into Michael’s shoulder. Michael felt himself lean into the affectionate touch, even when he didn’t want to, when he wanted to hold out for an actual answer. </p>
<p>“I want to, Michael. I really do.” His voice was cracked in a way Michael almost never heard. It broke his heart and his resolve. He carefully reached a hand up and rested it on top of Gerry’s weaving their fingers together. </p>
<p>“Then no, thank you. I think I’ll stay where I am after all.”</p>
<p>Gerry took in a breath as if to argue with him and Michael set his mouth in a firm line. They held one another’s gaze for a minute. For once, Gerry was the one to fold. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Gerry said finally. He hooked his ankle around a chair and pulled it closer to Michael’s bedside, hand never leaving Michael’s shoulder. He scrunched down in it to lay his head on the pillow next to Michael’s. It must have been a terrible position, but Gerry didn’t move and Michael fell into a fitful sleep to the sound of his breathing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Michael woke up, it was the middle of the night and he was alone. The nurses had threatened to kick Gerry out after visiting hours; they must have finally made good on it. He reached over to the table for his water glass, grunting at the strain on his delicate skin. His hand hit a paper bag instead. Surprised, he pulled it into his lap and scooched to sit up a bit. </p>
<p>He reached inside and pulled out a leather pouch. He unwound the tie and it fell open on his lap, revealing 5 throwing knives tucked into individual sleeves. Inside was a note, in Gerry’s hand-writing. To my knight in shining armor. I guess we’ll have to train you up, won’t we? </p>
<p>Michael felt tears come to his eyes. He had been so scared that Gerry would reconsider, try to talk Michael out of fighting alongside him. And he knew he would cave, especially because part of him still worried he would only put Gerry in more danger. </p>
<p>He carefully re-wrapped the knives, and set them on the side table, face twisted in resolve. He would learn this, and more. He would not stop learning until he could keep Gerry safe. Gerry would never need to save him again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>These boys :(((( They are so valid.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Gerry rides the bus and has a Difficult Conversation</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Peep that rating change, folks! So I was going to end this chapter with some well-deserved making out and then, like, tastefully cut away, the end. And then I just. Did not tastefully cut away. So if that's not your jam, feel free to tastefully cut yourself away when they move to the bedroom (though you might want to pop back in at "A few minutes later" for some sweet stuff at the very end). Oh and CW for both cock and cunt used for Gerry's genitals.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gerry hated “collectors.” He hated how they decorated their houses in that stupid “dark academia” style but also had stupid jobs as, like, hedge fund managers or bank associates or whatever the fuck to fund their forays into the paranormal. He hated this stupid ornate ivory trash can in this prick’s office, in which he was currently burning the man’s Leitner. He allowed himself to let out some aggression by giving it a kick, under the guise of breaking up the remaining chunks of book. He noticed a suspicious-looking wooden paperweight with an intricate webbed pattern carved into it and threw that in, too, for good measure. You never knew with assholes like this, anything could be Entity-related.</p><p>On his way out, he swiped the guy’s Oyster card from the little table in his front hall. Gerry’s was empty.</p><p>Gerry caught the bus at the last second, waving his arms and running, new coat flapping behind him. Not the most dignified entrance, but the next bus wasn’t for another 40 minutes and this place was too creepy to be just hanging out in.</p><p>He swiped the stolen card and card reader beeped green. The shitty bus lights flickered and he swung around to the face the judging stares of his fellow passengers for making them wait, but none came. Everyone’s face was stoic and blank, which, fair enough. He moved to the back of the bus, holding on to the overhead rail to keep his feet as the bus pulled away.</p><p>He let himself fall into a hard plastic seat a few rows from the back of the bus. It was only about a quarter full, so he had plenty of space to himself, just how he liked it. He leaned his forehead against the refreshingly cold window and turned on his music, letting it wash over him as he settled in for the long ride back to central London.</p><p>Gerry’s eyes flickered past pale yellow streetlights and the warmly-lit curtained windows of the suburban houses. The bus lights were low and reflected dimly off the window, so he could see his faint reflection too, separated from it all. Just a physical manifestation of how it had always been for him, really. As a little kid at school, talking about things too weird for his classmates and teachers alike. As a dropout teen, running after Leitners, thinking the next one, no the next would be enough to prove his worth. As an adult, living this surreal existence in the shadows, keeping the monsters at bay for a humanity he had never really had a connection to. He rarely got into these introspective moods, but he might as well get through this one on the bus by himself than at home where Michael would worry.</p><p>The condensation started to build up on the window, blurring the edges of the world outside. Gerry watched it grow and shrink with his soft breaths. He switched his music to something grainy and lofi to better vibe with the atmosphere. The soft thudding of the bass and dreamy lyrics washed over him and felt himself relax into an indulgent melancholy. There was Gertrude, of course. Not that he was fooling himself; she was hardly “humanity,” with her powers and allegiance to the Eye, unwilling as it was. And, much as he appreciated having an ally of sorts, the last few months had only made him more aware of her… utilitarian approach to fighting the Entities. Even now he couldn’t quite believe that she hadn’t known the Desolation would target his and Michael’s flat. He could work with her, even enjoy it with sometimes, but he could never trust her. And, while Gerry was no psychologist, he was self-aware enough to understand why he was still attached to Gertrude, why he thrived off her praise like a neglected plant to the sun. It was embarrassing, really. She was hardly the maternal type. She was often annoyed with him and was probably only waiting for the right time to deploy him to stop some ritual or another. More weapon than ally. Or friend. Or son. </p><p>The rain beat against the bus’s window. Outside the streetlights glinted off the puddles, sparkling through the fog. The cold outside continued to seep through the window, making Gerry shiver and wrap his coat tighter around him. The sway of the bus’s movement was gentle, rocking him like a cradle. </p><p>There was Michael, too. Gerry let out a sigh that obscured the entire window, then rubbed it with the sleeve of his coat. The fog outside was so thick he needn’t have bothered. Ah. Not normal gloomy weather, then. Not surprising. With his childhood, the Lonely felt like an old pair of shoes, sliding on effortlessly and comfortably. Still, Michael. Gerry’s eyes glazed over, imagining his face. It was like an Impressionist painting, there a dab of straw yellow for his curls, here a dab of rosy pink for his round, freckled cheek. Gerry smiled softly. This was all he needed. This was better than remembering him properly, really; it was what Michael felt like, not just what he looked like. The Lonely bus continued to rumble gently down the road and Gerry nestled further into his coat, imagining a breathy laugh that both was and was not quite Michael’s.</p><p>Gerry’s eyes closed. He was safe here. Michael was safe too. Here there would be no panic attacks, no watching the other gasping, with wild eyes, unreachable. Here there would be no Entities trying to cash in their checks for past childhood traumas with fresh young souls. There wouldn’t even be the rocks of a new relationship, of newly cohabitating, that he and Michael kept stumbling over. </p><p>Gerry has never been in a real relationship, of any sort, and he was finding that he, unsurprisingly, was quite bad at it. The aloofness and anger that he was accustomed to working with did not play well with Michael’s own coping mechanisms of apologies and people pleasing. The fight with the Desolation had made things even harder. Gerry wanted to open up more to Michael, really he did. He knew it was important for a proper relationship, but still he guarded his past tightly, holding on to the secret horrors as if not speaking of them could shake their hold over him. It didn’t help that, for all Michael had seen and done in the past few months, his face still held that spark of innocence and naivety that Gerry couldn’t bring himself to stamp out. Even as Michael threw himself into Entity hunting. He was staying long hours at the Institute lately, reading over statements later and later into the night. True to his word, Gerry had been increasing fighting lessons, and teaching him knife throwing, but Michael’s approach to it was relentless and he was hard on himself for not improving faster, despite Gerry’s reassurances that he was getting better with every lesson. He had a frantic look in his eye and Gerry couldn’t shake the feeling that Michael wasn’t telling him everything about his motivations. There was so much unspoken between them.</p><p>Speaking of. Gerry’s phone buzzed:</p><p>
  <i>Hi love! Just wanted to check up on you and make sure the burning went well.</i>
</p><p>Gerry suddenly noticed the iciness of his fingers in contrast to the warmth in his chest. He was surprised The Lonely had allowed him to get a text. He started to respond, when another came through:</p><p>
  <i>I just wanted to see when you’d be home.</i>
</p><p>Quickly followed by:</p><p>
  <i>Not that you need to be home, of course. Unless you want to.</i>
</p><p>And then:</p><p>
  <i>I mean, I want you to be. But you can also take your time, if you wanted to do something, after the book. Whatever you want :)</i>
</p><p>Gerry frowned. He loved Michael, completely. He didn't want him to be a different person, a person who put his own desires before other people’s desires, a person who was upfront about feeling upset or hurt. But he did want Michael to trust him with his feelings. He wanted that more than anything. And when Michael didn’t, when Michael showed his fears of rejection, it was Gerry who felt the rebuff. Gerry didn’t trust people. But he had made the choice to trust Michael, and Michael couldn’t do the same. That was why The Lonely had let Michael text him here. Gerry felt the realization, sudden and cold, that this was the only place he and Michael could have their perfect relationship, soft and safe and bittersweet for not being real. But this was the best possible version, the only version, really.</p><p>Gerry relaxed and closed his eyes, letting his phone fall into his lap, texts unanswered. He pictured Michael in the morning, when his curls were unruly and flying off in every direction, framing his angelic face like a crooked halo. He thought of the little tub of rainbow sprinkles in their pantry, and how Michael would wander in there around 6:30 every night, when Gerry was halfway through making dinner, and pinch a few between his fingers, tilt his head back, and drop them into his mouth, then lean his head on Gerry’s shoulder, crunching sprinkles as he asked how much longer. He thought about getting caught up in research in the Archives, back against one row of files, feet pressed against the other to balance files on his knees, of hearing Michael humming to himself as he filed away statements. Of sneaking up and surprising him with a kiss on the check, standing on tiptoes to reach, even with his platform boots. Yes, this was for the best. He missed him, of course, feared that Michael would forget, but… it would be okay. He’d have this instead. </p><p>Gerry's eyes glazed over. The fog was inside the bus now. The other passengers were completely obscured, if they were even still there. The sounds of the engine were gone, muffled as if cotton had been stuck in Gerry's ears. He nearly missed another buzz from his phone. Nearly. </p><p>With a tremendous effort he forced his hand to flip it over and dragged his eyes down to the screen, blinking to focus them.</p><p>It was a photo, Michael and Cat-herine with Michael holding one of Cat-herine's paws up to wave at the camera. Below it, Michael had written:</p><p>
  <i>We miss you! Listen, I talked to Sasha… and she is right and smarter than me, like always. I know you would tell me to speak up for what I want if you were here, so… I want you to come home. More than that, I want us to talk about some stuff. I think we both know we need to. Whew. Okay.</i>
</p><p>Then:</p><p>
  <i>That sounds scary! I just think it’s time we opened up about our feelings and things like that. I’m ready, and I think you are too.</i>
</p><p>Followed by:</p><p>
  <i>Love you! ♥️</i>
</p><p>The words blurred, between the fog and Gerry’s watering eyes. He felt frozen, like he’d actually been out in the rain and fog. His joints were stiff and his mind was sluggish, unwilling to break out of the cozy chill of the dreamland it had resigned itself to.</p><p>He gave his head a small shake and forced his eyes downward to read the messages again.</p><p><i>You don’t have to do this</i>, a small voice inside him said. <i>It sounds like so much work. It sounds like it will hurt.</i> Gerry felt the warmth the texts had inspired sap out of him.</p><p><i>That’s right</i>, said the voice. <i>Isn’t it better to stay here, where things are safe and easy? You don’t need what’s-his-name to make life any harder for you.</i></p><p>Michael, Gerry thought hazily. His name is Michael.</p><p><i>Sure it is</i>, the voice reassured him. <i>He can be whatever you want here. You can be whatever you want too. This is where you belong.</i></p><p>Maybe that would have gotten Gerry, once. For most of his life, he hadn’t felt like he belonged anywhere—not in Pinhole Books with his mother, not in the music clubs and alternative cafes and clubs he had sneaked off to, not at the stuffy, sinister Institute or off with Gertrude. But even after only living with Michael for a few weeks, he knew he belonged there. It was already home. <i>Michael</i> was already home. </p><p>Gerry stood up, sudden and decisive. </p><p>The bus was no longer visible around him, but he was confident as he strode forward, furiously swiping the fog away with his arms.</p><p>"Fuck you, you creepy depression god," he growled, stomping his boots and kicking at the fog. "You just TRY to make me forget about my boyfriend!" </p><p>He spun around, glaring at the nothing that was behind him. "He is so fucking GOOD. And KIND." He kept stalking forward now, arms out, fumbling for the door he knew was here somewhere. </p><p>"And I LOVE him. And worth fighting for and you don't know anything ABOUT THAT because you're just a lazy deity that makes Lukases do all your emotional labor for you!"</p><p>He whooped in triumph as his hand closed over the door handle. He flung it open and pounded down the stairs, sticking his head back in to glare at the empty bus, yelling, "I'm going to go have some open and honest communication with the man I love now!" before whirling around and scampering off into the night.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He still didn't have a working Oyster card, so the journey home took awhile, but it gave him time to think. And text Michael back. When he finally flung open the door to their flat, Michael was taking a tray of slightly burnt brownies out of the oven, his hair tied out of his face with a bandana. He looked like Rosie the Riveter, if Rosie did her riveting wrapped up in a duvet and lavender joggers. </p><p>“You made it!” he called out over his shoulder. Gerry dropped his bag and toed off his boots and then felt himself enveloped by Michael, who had not only hugged him, but fully wrapped him inside the blanket cape he was wearing. “I’m so, so glad you’re here,” he murmured into Gerry’s damp hair. </p><p>Gerry pressed his face into the curve of Michael’s shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled like vanilla and the gentle spice of his shampoo, like home. “Yeah, me too.” he choked out.</p><p>“Now, go get comfy and I’ll bring you a treat,” Michael said, steering him towards the bathroom.</p><p>Gerry turned the shower as hot as he could stand and stood underneath, imagining the water sloughing off the stubborn tendrils of fog that clung to him. When he was dressed and settled on the sofa, Michael came in balancing a plate of brownies and two mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles.</p><p>“Chocolate to get rid of the dementors!” he announced, depositing everything on the coffee table and dropping cross-legged next to Gerry, giving him a big gap-tooth grin. </p><p>Gerry took hold of his cup and took a sip. Michael had added cinnamon to the cocoa. He thought of Michael’s creativity and playfulness, of his intelligent mind and good heart, of his surprising strength in the face of the dangers of their world. Even now, after hearing that his boyfriend narrowly escaped fucking off to the Lonely, he added cinnamon. </p><p>It wasn’t protecting Michael for Gerry to keep his past from him. It wasn’t keeping him innocent from the horrors of his world. It was putting up a barrier between them, just as much as Michael’s insecurities and fears of scaring Gerry off. Gerry took what felt like his hundredth deep breath of the night and looked into Michael’s gray eyes.</p><p>“Michael,” he said. “Can I tell you about my mother?”</p><p>Michael nodded, pulling a long leg onto the couch and resting his chin on his knee.</p><p>“Okay, so… it was bad, growing up. You probably already guessed that.”</p><p>Michael nodded again.</p><p>“Yeah. But really bad. She killed people, Michael. Not like Gertrude, either, though it makes sense, really why I’d fall in with Gertrude.” He shook his head, refocusing. “Anyway. She wasn’t fighting the Entities. She wanted a piece of them. She wanted their power. She wanted that for me too.”</p><p>Gerry held out his hand and Michael took it instantly, rubbing slow circles with his thumb against the back of Gerry’s own. </p><p>“S—she... killed my dad.” Gerry’s voice cracked and Michael gasped, then pressed his lips together, giving Gerry space to continue. “I don’t, god, I don’t even know why, really. Did she ever care about him? And how did he end up with her? Does it even matter?”</p><p>Gerry was quiet for a minute, and Michael was too, thumb still drawing slow circles on the back of Gerry’s hand. Gerry took another sip of cocoa. </p><p>“She found her first Leitner when she was just a kid. Gertrude told me that once. I don’t know why; maybe to help me understand her, even feel some sort of empathy? I don’t know that it did that. I mean, from what Gertrude said, she was fucked up before that. The Leitner just gave a focus to her obsession.”</p><p>Gerry paused and looked away from Michael’s gentle gaze. “I used to… to get them. For her. I’d go out hunting, like I do now. Using all the things she’d taught me. And then I’d bring them back to her, for her to <i>use</i>.” He looked at Michael again, and felt the sympathy and love in his expression like a blow. “No, Michael, listen. She used them all; she did horrible things, you don’t understand-”</p><p>“It’s ok, Gerry, I believe you.”</p><p>“I need you to know that. I was responsible. That’s on me.”</p><p>Michael bit his lip. “I don’t know everything she did, or everything you saw. And you don’t have to tell me, unless you want to. But,” his voice was tentative but firm, “But you were just a kid. And she was your mother. Of course you did what she asked. What she did with it was not your fault.”</p><p>Gerry shook his head, tears in his eyes. “You don’t know how much I wanted to please her. I <i>wanted</i> her to use them. If she did, maybe she would…” Gerry trailed off and Michael opened his arms to him, uncertain. </p><p>Gerry crawled into Michael’s lap, curling up with his cheek against Michael’s chest. Michael stroked his hair, brushing it off his tearstained face and tucking it behind his ear. He wrapped his other arm around Gerry’s back and Gerry pressed himself against Michael, wanting his goodness to engulf him. Michael was whispering reassurances into Gerry’s hair and, while he could only make out some of the words, he felt the intention behind them seep into him. After a while he leaned back enough to look up at Michael again.</p><p>“Thank you for telling me,” Michael said quietly. </p><p>“Thanks for listening. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”</p><p>“It’s okay… Gerry, listen. You aren’t your mother.” Gerry opened his mouth to protest, but Michael wouldn’t let him. “No, listen. You might not believe me, or agree with me, but I need to say it. You aren’t responsible for undoing what she did. If you want to keep fighting the Entities because they are evil and hurting people, I get that. I do too, if I’m honest. But you don’t owe it to the world. You don’t owe anyone anything. Okay?”</p><p>Gerry’s mouth twisted. “I… hear you. I don’t know that I can accept that, yet. But I hear you.”</p><p>Michael leaned in to kiss him and Gerry kissed back, finding fresh comfort in the softness of Michael’s lips, in the warmth of his breath. They stayed like that, kisses gentle and chaste, broken up with murmurs against one another’s lips and fingers running through hair and across jawlines and necks. Every touch from Michael sank through Gerry's skin, sweeping away the remaining tendrils of Lonely, warming him completely.</p><p>After a few minutes, Michael tilted Gerry’s chin, angling his head to deepen the kiss. </p><p>“Is this okay?” he whispered, hand resting on Gerry’s chest, over his heart.</p><p>“Yes, love.”</p><p>Michael smiled shyly and leaned back in to kiss him again, fingers working their way under Gerry’s shirt and along his stomach. Gerry let out a soft hum of surprise and pleasure as Michael's touch built up a different kind of heat within him. Michael pulled Gerry closer and gave a small roll of his hips. Gerry chuckled and nipped Michael’s lower lip, then slipped his tongue in, sliding it along Michael’s own. He gasped when Michael gave his tongue a gentle suck and when Michael leaned back to gaze down at him, eyes dark, he wanted nothing more than to tug him up and take him to bed. But he knew they weren’t finished with the hard part yet.</p><p>“Michael,” he started. </p><p>“Gerry.” Michael’s voice was breathless and he leaned down to bury his face in Gerry’s neck. He started to suck a bruise into his skin.</p><p>Gerry was caught between amusement and desire. “Babe…”</p><p>“Mmm?”</p><p>“You know we’re only halfway done, right?”</p><p>Michael sat up and looked at him quizzically.</p><p>“It’s your turn to talk now.”</p><p>Michael made a face.</p><p>“Were you really trying to seduce me out of remembering?” Gerry asked, grinning.</p><p>Michael looked affronted. “No! I just kind of got caught up in it and… forgot? Not that I wanted so badly to talk about my feelings that I made it a priority.”</p><p>Gerry laughed. “It’s okay; it wasn’t that bad. And I’m here with you,” he added, softer. </p><p>Michael smiled back.</p><p>“Oh, and!” Gerry exclaimed, hopping up and padding over to the cat bed and scooping up a very unimpressed-looking Cat-herine before plopping her in Michael’s lap. “Moral support.”</p><p>Gerry sat down next to Michael, tucking his feet under him and taking Michael’s hand. “Okay, ready?’</p><p>“Ready.” Michael took a breath and ran his fingers through the cat's soft fur. “Okay, so. I know you’ve been saying I’m too hard on myself when you’re teaching me. And I know I’ve been working really late, and I’m sorry I haven’t been around so much these last couple weeks. The thing is—”</p><p>Gerry slipped his hand into Michael’s free one and Michael gave it a squeeze.</p><p>“I—I’ve been thinking about the right thing to do. And I don’t want to do it. Which is selfish of me, I know it is, b—but I just thought, maybe, if I get good enough, and if I can know enough, then maybe I won’t be such a liability and then you won't have to save me or be in danger and that would be so much better, really, even if—”</p><p>“Michael, slow down. What do you mean 'the right thing to do?'”</p><p>“Oh. Break up with you.”</p><p>Gerry felt his stomach drop. “You want to—”</p><p>“No!” Michael nearly shouted and Cat-herine made a break for it. “No, Gerry, I don’t want to at all, but I should, I really should.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you’re in danger because of me. I can’t take care of myself like you can and then you have to do something dangerous to help me and you would just be better off if I wasn’t there.” Michael's jaw was set and his face was determined. Gerry wondered if he'd really intended to go through with it, maybe that night even.</p><p>“Don’t you think that’s a decision I should make for myself?”</p><p>Michael hesitated. </p><p>“I mean it, Michael. Do you think I don’t know the risks?”</p><p>“Well, no, of course you do.”</p><p>“And do you think that I haven’t made the same calculation about your safety?”</p><p>“I suppose now that you’re saying it… it would be dumb to think you haven’t.”</p><p>“Not dumb.” Gerry brought Michael’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “Just self-sacrificing.”</p><p>"I just... I don't want you to get hurt because of me." Michael sounded hopeless.</p><p>Gerry took a minute to collect his thoughts. “Okay, so. We’re both in this, right? For a lot of reasons, some good some bad.”</p><p>Michael nodded.</p><p>“And it’s dangerous to both of us. But you don’t have to do this to yourself. You can get stronger and faster and better able to defend yourself if you want to.”</p><p>“I do,” Michael said quickly.</p><p>“And I’ll help. But don’t do it for me, okay? Do it because you want to. I’d do anything to protect you, even if you could take me in a fight ten times over.”</p><p>Michael smiled at that, giving a little wiggle of pleasure that warmed Gerry to his toes.</p><p>“Okay, I get that. And thank you. But… the same goes for you. If I go easier on myself, you have to too. Let me learn to keep you safe. And don’t you beat yourself up either. You have nothing to make up for.”</p><p>“We can do this because we chose it, even if it did choose us first.”</p><p>Michael nodded. “And… because it’s kinda fun.”</p><p>Gerry’s eyes went big. “Okay, I knew <i>I</i> thought it was fun, but I thought I was just fucked up and weird. You think it’s fun?”</p><p>“I mean… yeah. How often do I get to fight people and destroy things?”</p><p>“Oh my god. Michael. I love you so much.”</p><p>Michael turned beet red and Gerry grinned, leaning forward to plant obnoxious kisses him all over his face.</p><p>“Hmph, Gerry, get off! I love you too, I love you too!”</p><p>Gerry sat back, smiling from ear to ear. “Sorry, you’re just irresistible.”</p><p>Michael blushed deeper.</p><p>“See what I mean? How could anyone resist that?”</p><p>“Gerry…” Michael’s voice was that perfect blend of shy and happy as he reached for him. Gerry knew that voice. He swung his leg around to straddle Michael's hips. </p><p>“Yes, gorgeous?”</p><p>“Well I was thinking,” he continued, face continuing to burn as he put on a thoughtful expression and tapped a finger against his cheek.</p><p>“Mm, looks good on you.”</p><p>“Since we’ve gotten the talking part out of the way…”</p><p>“Mm hm.” Gerry started kissing a line down Michael’s jaw.</p><p>“...and we’ve finished our cocoa…”</p><p>“Very important,” Gerry murmured, kissing becoming open-mouthed and messier as he moved to Michael’s neck.</p><p>“I just thought, maaaaybe, you’d take me to bed now.”</p><p>“What a thought.” Gerry pulled back and leaned his forearms on Michael’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “Have you learned your lesson about trying to break up with me for my own good?”</p><p>Michael nodded emphatically, lips twitching. </p><p>“Well then, I think it’s what you deserve.” Gerry leaned back in to catch Michael’s lips in a searing kiss. Michael got his hands back under Gerry’s shirt, elegant fingers running up and down his back and Gerry leaned into the sensation, rumbling a low groan against Michael’s mouth. Gerry gave a roll of his hips, grinding into Michael’s lap and then creating space again, which Michael arched helplessly into. He grinned at Michael’s whine. </p><p>“You,” Michael whispered, breaking away to place his lips a breath away from Gerry’s ear, “are a terrible tease.” </p><p>A corner of Gerry’s mouth pulled up in a smirk. “Is that right?”</p><p>“Mm hm.” Michael ran the tip of his tongue over the shell of Gerry’s ear and nipped the lobe. Gerry ground down against him again.</p><p>“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, voice both challenging and breathy.</p><p>He felt Michael’s smile as his hands scooped underneath Gerry. </p><p>“This,” he said, canting forward and standing up.</p><p>“AH!” Gerry yelled and threw his arms and legs around Michael to keep from crashing into the coffee table. “Michael, I’m too heavy for you!”</p><p>“No, I’m going to do it!” Michael insisted, giggling and trying to breathe. He was struggling to get his balance, but his arms were firm under Gerry’s ass and thighs. “It’s going to be—<i>oof</i>—very sexy and romantic!”</p><p>Gerry shook with laughter as Michael staggered towards their bedroom, stopping halfway to prop Gerry against the wall of the hallway and catch his breath.  </p><p>Gerry raised an eyebrow at Michael’s heavy breathing. “Well, the adrenaline rush of being all the way up here is definitely a turn-on.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>“‘k,” said Gerry and kissed him messily. Michael returned it, sliding his tongue in between Gerry’s lips, and caressing one of the thighs he was holding. Gerry felt a warmth building in his chest, safe with Michael’s arms holding him up, Michael’s breath in his mouth, Michael’s hair between his fingers. </p><p>Michael broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. “Romantic yet?”</p><p>“Very.”</p><p>“Okay, good. Hold on to that thought, because it’s about to get goofy again.”</p><p>Michael pushed off the wall and tottered down the rest of the hallway, he and Gerry giggling the whole time. When they reached the bed, Michael dropped him on it with a final “oof”. He put both hands on the footboard, bracing himself to catch his breath. Gerry arranged himself on the bed, knees falling open invitingly.</p><p>“That was all very sexy,” he teased.</p><p>“Listen,” Michael said, grinning as he looked up at Gerry. His breath caught in his throat when he saw how Gerry had laid himself out on the bed and the hunger in his expression. Gerry’s eyes ran up and down Michael’s body and he bit his bottom lip. </p><p>Michael let out a reverential breath. “Fuck, you’re hot.” </p><p>Gerry’s face lit up with wicked delight at the swear, but Michael was already tugging off his shirt and arranging himself between Gerry’s thighs, so Gerry pulled his own off too. His hands went for his jeans, but Michael batted them away. </p><p>“Let me,” he said, gazing up at Gerry through long lashes, voice low, and the sound of it made heat pool low in Gerry’s belly. It was a rare occasion when Michael had the confidence and was in the mood to take the lead and the novelty of it made it that much more of a turn-on.</p><p>Michael ran his hands up Gerry’s thighs, fingers making quick work of the button and zipper, and tugged the jeans down to mid thigh. He leaned up to kiss Gerry’s mouth then, and Gerry turned it filthy immediately, winding fingers in Michael’s hair and tugging, pressing his tongue between his lips, shamelessly arching against his body. When Michael set his mind to do something for Gerry, there was no distracting him, which made it all the more fun for Gerry to try, with every slutty trick he knew. He felt Michael’s smile as his hand gently pressed Gerry back into the mattress. </p><p>“Patience,” he scolded, eyes twinkling. </p><p>Gerry raised an eyebrow and slowly licked his bottom lip, tongue catching on his piercing. “Better hurry then, sweetheart. Because I don’t have much.”</p><p>He smirked as Michael ducked his head at the endearment and instead focused on Gerry’s briefs, hooking his fingers through the waistband and tugging them and his jeans off. Gerry let his knees fall further apart and watched. Michael was trailing open-mouth, sucking kisses up his thighs, fingers digging into his hips, which were canting forward again, eager to get Michael’s mouth where he wanted it. </p><p>Another muffled “patience” came from Michael and Gerry groaned in delighted frustration. He typically had a ton of energy during sex and he loved Michael teasing him like this, building it up to its breaking point. The feeling of Michael’s lips and tongue and fingers getting closer and closer drove him wild. He bucked his hips again, just to hear Michael’s “tsk.”</p><p>Finally, Michael licked a flat, broad stroke over his cock. Gerry keened and Michael lifted his head and rested it on an elbow to watch Gerry squirm.</p><p>“Michaelmichaelmichael. Baby, c’mon, please?”</p><p>“All right,” said Michael, pretending to be put upon. “But hold still.”</p><p>Gerry twisted his fingers in the sheets, forcing his hips to stop. Michael kept his chin propped on his hand as he lazily slid a finger into Gerry. He gave his finger a curl that had Gerry groaning, and then slid it out and circled it, hot and wet, around Gerry’s cock. Gerry dug his heels into the mattress, pressing himself against Michael’s finger, struggling to stay still enough to keep contact while still getting as much friction as possible.  </p><p>Michael was never one for prolonged teasing, though, and he took pity on Gerry, ducking back down, tongue laving his cock while he slipped inside Gerry, with two fingers this time. Gerry’s toes curled and legs quivered at the suddenness of the wave of pleasure that hit him. He pressed his thighs possessively against Michael’s head and wound his fingers into his curls, holding Michael in place as he squirmed and bucked against his mouth.</p><p>“God, Michael,” he choked out. “You feel incredible.”</p><p>Michael let out a pleased sound that hummed against Gerry and he rolled his hips to catch the vibrations.</p><p>“Do that again, gorgeous,” Gerry groaned, grinding down against Michael’s mouth. “C’mon, let me hear you.”</p><p>Michael moaned again, louder this time and filthy, mouth nearly buzzing against Gerry. He slid in a third finger and Gerry’s hips left the bed, chasing the friction, his groaning turned desperate. Michael got his lips tight around Gerry’s cock, gave a deep concentrated hum and then a swift and sharp suck and Gerry fell apart with a howl. Michael eased him through it, gradually slowing down and lessening the pressure until he was back to gentle kisses and stoking Gerry’s thighs and Gerry was a warm puddle regarding him lazily from a pile of pillows. Michael caught his gaze and returned it, along with a slow, satisfied smile.</p><p>“C’mere, beautiful,” Gerry said with a crook of his finger, and Michael did, lying cradled between Gerry's thighs, erection pressing into the curve of his hip. Gerry pulled him down to a kiss, slow and sensual, tasting the sour-sweetness of himself on Michael’s tongue. He trailed his fingers down Michael’s neck and Michael moaned, eyes flutter shut, hips making tiny thrusting motions against Gerry. Gerry smirked.</p><p>“Would you like me to do something about that for you?” he murmured, palming Michael’s cock with his other hand. </p><p>Michael hummed, warm and content and breathless. “Yes, please.”</p><p>Gerry reached an arm awkwardly to dig in the nightstand and pulled out a jar of lube. He squirted a bit in his hand and rubbed his fingers together to warm it up. When he ran a slippery finger down Michael’s stomach and around the head of his cock, Michael gasped and buried his face in Gerry’s neck. </p><p>Gerry tipped to the side and Michael rolled next to him, giving Gerry room to maneuver, even as Michael pulled him close again. Gerry slid his hand up and down Michael’s cock and was breathless at the sweetness of the friction. He curled around Gerry, face tucked against Gerry’s hair now, whispering a steady stream of need and arousal and encouragement against it.</p><p>Gerry continued to trail the fingertips of his free hand over Michael’s collarbones and nipples and ribs, causing Michael to shiver against him, even as he thrust and ground against Gerry’s hand. Gerry smiled against his chest and made his index finger and thumb into a tight ring for Michael to fuck into.</p><p>“How’s that, gorgeous?”</p><p>Michael let out a low groan that was almost a growl and his thrusts sped up, keeping time with Gerry’s motions. </p><p>“Good,” Gerry murmured against Michael’s skin, dropping kisses along his chest. “You look so good like this, all hot and open for me.”</p><p>Michael groaned again and sped up again, snapping his hips against Gerry’s hand. Gerry added a twist around the tip of Michael’s cock, whenever Michael arched back, and Michael gasped out his name.</p><p>“Yes, just like that. I wanna make this so good for you.” Gerry ran his tongue around one of Michael’s nipples and sucked, with just a hint of teeth.</p><p>“You are,” Michael gasped out; then “Gerry! I’m going to—”</p><p>Gerry leaned up to catch Michael’s mouth in a kiss. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” he whispered and with a final moan, Michael did, body collapsing around Gerry when he finished.</p><p>A few minutes later they were curled up, clean and warm under the blankets, bodies still soft and languid from their orgasms, fingers tangled together, warm breath on each other’s faces.</p><p>“Michael?” Gerry whispered.</p><p>“Hm?” Michael’s eyes fluttered open and Gerry reached out his free hand to gently close them again. </p><p>“No, don’t look.”</p><p>Michael giggled. “Okay.”</p><p>“I feel so close to you right now. Closer than I have to anyone, ever. I just wanted you to know.”</p><p>Michael’s face became serious and he moved Gerry’s hand from in front of his eyes. He brought it to his mouth and placed a soft kiss there. His gaze was piercing and Gerry felt like he could see all of his secrets. But he didn’t need to have any secrets from Michael. Not anymore. </p><p>“Me too,” Michael said, voice soft but filled with emotion. “I love you and… I trust you. More than anybody.” He leaned in to leave another kiss, soft and chaste, on Gerry’s lips.</p><p>Gerry wound his arm around Michael, pulling him closer and Michael tucked Gerry’s head under his chin. He fell asleep listening to Michael’s steady heartbeat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the boys and Sasha go through a lot of torches and steal a truck.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>*8 months later*</p><p> </p><p>“Sooo… what are we going to do? Just walk in and say ‘We’re here for the cult stuff?’” </p><p>Gerry snorted and Michael glared at Sasha, who grinned back. This would be the first time she was actually going out to fetch a Leitner with Michael and Gerry, and she was a bit surprised at how excited she was.</p><p>“Be serious,” Michael scolded. “You could get hurt.”</p><p>“I doubt it. I’ve seen you two practicing and these People’s Church of the Divine Host idiots don’t stand a chance.”</p><p>“Well, maybe,” Michael said skeptically. “As long as we stick to the plan. Got your torches?”</p><p>Sasha flipped open her trench coat, where Michael had sewn little holsters for a variety of torches. She looked like she hung out on street corners, engaging in some sort of illicit torch-selling business. </p><p>“Good,” Michael said, satisfied.</p><p>“Just another couple blocks,” Gerry said, checking the street signs. “You both remember the plan?”</p><p>Sasha ticked off her fingers. “Get in, get the Leitner, get out; keep lots of torches handy; keep an eye on our shadows. That everything?”</p><p>“You forgot ‘Let Gerry and Michael handle any fighting.’”</p><p>“Oh, did I?”</p><p>“Sasha.”</p><p>“Michael.”</p><p>“Cut it out you two,” Gerry said, checking addresses. “But yeah, Michael’s right, Sash; not yet unless you have to.” </p><p>“I know, I know; he’s just fun to wind up.”</p><p>“God, isn’t that the truth?” Gerry glanced up to smirk at Michael, whose cheeks grew faintly pink.</p><p>He also gave a long-suffering sigh, which Gerry shushed. </p><p>“We’re here.” He gave the other two a meaningful look and the atmosphere shifted. The building looked like any other warehouse on a semi-busy London street corner. People were walking past, drinking coffees and talking on their phones. There was a truck idling at the edge of an alley. Even the blacked out windows didn’t really look out of place for that part of the city. Sasha gave a little shiver, whether from excitement or nerves, she wasn’t sure.</p><p>“There will probably be a few cultists hanging around standing guard,” Gerry reminded them, “Since they’re probably using the Leitner for a minor eclipse ritual next week. So Michael and me first.”</p><p>Sasha and Michael nodded and Gerry slipped into the alley to get to a side door. Sasha felt herself getting a bit jittery as he picked the lock, and pulled out two of her torches for something to do, testing each of their lights. So far, so good. Michael caught her eye and she gave him a reassuring smile. That boy would worry himself to death if she let him.</p><p>“Okay,” Gerry whispered, pushing the door open just enough to slide through. “Let’s go.” </p><p>Michael followed, pulling a knife from a holster on his belt and gripping the torch in his other hand, and Sasha marched after, closing the door softly behind them. </p><p>Their flashlights illuminated what looked like a normal, mostly empty warehouse. </p><p>“Let’s try back there,” Gerry whispered, indicating the far wall, which looked like smaller office spaces. </p><p>“And look out for that.” Michael shone his torch on a large, dark puddle of water to their left. </p><p>Gerry nodded. “Good catch; let’s go the other way, along the wall.”</p><p>As they crept towards the far wall, Sasha noticed how stark the darkness around their torchlight was. It felt oppressive, almost alive. Even though it was a sunny afternoon outside, the windows let in absolutely no light. Not only that, but the sounds in the warehouse weren’t right either. Their speech and footsteps were muffled, as if they were in a small space, or the walls were soundproofed. Or as if the Dark itself was absorbing every sound they made. God, there was an idea. They were at the offices now. </p><p>“Okay, here goes,” said Gerry, and knocked at the nearest door. </p><p>“Hello?” came a voice. Gerry and Michael grinned at each other and Gerry knocked again.</p><p>The door swung open with a, “Who’s th—,” which was immediately cut off when Gerry threw his weight against it and slammed it in the guy’s face. He quickly swung it back open again, allowing Michael to get in a solid punch in the stomach, knocking the wind out of the guy, who fell to the ground, doubled over. Gerry whipped out a zip tie for his wrists, while Michael stuffed a cloth in his mouth.</p><p>Sasha was impressed; it was like watching a well-choreographed dance. She whistled and Gerry winked at her. Michael was more restrained.</p><p>“Well, that’s one out of the way, at least.”</p><p>“Could it be in here?” Sasha asked, eyeing the filing cabinets and desk of the office. </p><p>“Might be, under normal circumstances.” Gerry answered. “But since they plan to put it to use soon, I expect they’ve got it somewhere more protected.”</p><p>“So let’s go get it; in and out,” Michael reminded them, ushering them towards the other door in the office. </p><p>They made their way through a couple similar rooms, some with a cult member in them, some empty. Sasha started poking around in drawers and closets while Gerry and Michael dealt with cultists, to see if she could make herself useful somehow. In the back of a wardrobe, she found a cardboard box with some files in it that she started flipping through. One had some drawings of what looked like an eclipse and some phrases in what she thought might be Norwegian.</p><p>“Hey guys?” she said, stepping back into the office. “Come take a lo—” She blinked. The office was empty. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Sasha?” Michael asked.</p><p>“Hmm?” Gerry looked up from the floorplan of the warehouse which someone had thoughtfully framed and put on the wall. There was a central storage room just down the next hallway; he was willing to bet they’d find the Leitner there.</p><p>“Sasha. Did you see her leave?” Michael’s voice was rising and Gerry wasn’t exactly calm either when he looked around the room and saw she was gone. </p><p>“Did she follow us out of the last room?”</p><p>Michael was peering back through the door. “I thought so, but…” he turned back to Gerry. “She’s not in there.”</p><p>Both their torches flickered then and they caught each other’s eyes and pulled out their spares.  Just then Michael’s phone buzzed.</p><p>“Sasha!” he said, relief flooding his voice. He pressed the button to put her on speaker phone and stuck it in his chest pocket. “Where are you; are you okay?” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine. But I think they’ve figured out we’re here.”</p><p>“Yeah, us too.”</p><p>“Look, Sasha,” Gerry leaned in. “I think I know where the book is. Do you know where you are? Do you remember the way out?”</p><p>“I do, yeah. You want me to get out and wait for you?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Don’t be a hero,” Michael added quickly. “Just get to safety!”</p><p>“Don’t have to tell me twice. Just… stay on the line, maybe?”</p><p>“Okay, but keep your hands free, you’ll need them,” Michael warned. </p><p>“Will do. I already have to change torches.” They heard the sound of her coat rustling. “There. Okay, out I go.”</p><p>“And us,” Gerry said, hand on Michael’s back. “This way.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sasha, while faintly disappointed to not see a little more action her first time out, was eager to get out of the creepy warehouse. The atmosphere was much more oppressive by herself. She was nearly to the door when she instantly regretted her disappointment, as something slimy crept up her back. She cried out and spun around, pointing her light at the empty spot. She groped behind her, but felt nothing.</p><p>“Who’s there?” she called out, darting her light to each corner of the room and finding them all empty. She backed towards the door, eyes still flickering around the room. She had gotten used to the muffled feeling of the warehouse but it pricked at her senses again, as if it had been amplified. She glanced behind her: she was nearly there, just a few more meters. </p><p>Suddenly she fell backwards and felt herself being pulled away from the door, as if by the collar of her coat. </p><p>“Get off me!” she screamed, waving her arms and torch, helpless to reach whatever had ahold of her. She heard a splashing and realized she was headed towards that sinister puddle that Michael had pointed out when they first arrived. She’d done research to prepare; she knew it must be impossibly deep. She threw her weight to one side, tugging an arm out of her sleeve and quickly turned the other direction, pulling out the other and whirling around just in time to see her coat (and all her torches) dragged into the water’s depths. </p><p>Without wasting time looking for more answers, Sasha sprinted towards the door, and seconds later she was slamming it behind her and panting in the bright sunshine, while passersby judged her. She looked around at the perfectly ordinary London street and started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, which got her even more alarmed stares. </p><p>Sobering herself, Sasha realized that Michael must have been terrified listening to that. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and held it up to her ear. “Michael, Gerry, I’m okay, I just—”</p><p>There was the sound of shouting and fists hitting flesh on the other end.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Michael…” Gerry said nervously, as half a dozen members of the People’s Church circled in on him. “How are you doing up there?”</p><p>“It’s hard to say.” Michael’s voice was muffled. “It could be the next thing I grab or on the other side of the room.”</p><p>“Okay, well, sooner would be better, love.”</p><p>They had made it to the central storage room and Michael had run up to search the cabinets lining the walls of a sort of scaffolding overlooking the warehouse floor. Gerry had been standing guard at the base of the stairs, surrounded by torches. But now he was blocking the cult’s only access point to Michael and the Leitner and he was hesitant to give it up to move towards any one of them. He needed to give Michael as much time as possible to find the book. </p><p>One of the cultists lunged at him then, and Gerry swiped out with his knife, causing the other guy to shift at the last second and stumble. Gerry got in a good kick then and the man cried out and rolled out of Gerry’s reach. Unwilling to follow him and give up the position, Gerry glares around at the others, daring them to come closer.</p><p>“Everything okay down there?” came Michael’s worried voices. </p><p>“Just getting a little exciting, is all. How’s the search?”</p><p>Michael’s anxiety was growing. “I don’t know! I haven’t seen an— oh! I’ve got it!” There was some banging and an “ow!” and then Michael’s grinning face appeared over the railing, holding up the book. </p><p>Oh!” his face fell at the sight of the cultists, and they didn’t seem any happier to see him holding their Leitner. One of them hissed.</p><p>Then they turned as one to face Gerry and all of the sudden his circle of torches went out. </p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Michael had just thrown a knife, but Gerry heard it miss its target and clatter to the floor, as well as Michael’s curse echoing his own. Gerry felt hands on him, now, and he lashed out at them all, slashing, stomping, biting, whatever it took. He could feel his emergency batteries weighing down his coat pocket, but there was no time to get them in a torch. He would just have to hold them off in time for Michael to get downstairs. </p><p>He felt a kick to his hand send his knife flying and heard it clatter to the ground 15 meters away. </p><p>“Fuck.” He had another tucked in his boot and another strapped to his belt, but someone had come behind him and had his wrists pulled back in a vise grip. He took a solid punch to the jaw and groaned. That would definitely bruise. The cultist was still there, though, Gerry could feel him, so he threw his weight back against the person behind him and used them as leverage to kick the cultist who’d punched him. From the feel of the impact and sound of the groan, he’d gotten them right in the chest. The person behind Gerry regained their balance and was retaliating by attempting to dislocate both Gerry’s arms at once, which, unfortunately, they would probably succeed at, what with how many times it’d happened before. Gerry cried out in pain and then was suddenly released.</p><p>He whirled around to see Michael, lit up by his headlamp and a glowstick necklace, with the cultist clutching their throat at his feet. </p><p>“Punch to the throat?”</p><p>Michael nodded, smiling proudly. Gerry reached up to give him a quick kiss, but Michael pushed him down almost immediately. Gerry felt the kick of another cultist fly above his head and just barely connect with Michael’s nose. </p><p>Gerry whirled around and barreled into them right as they were regaining their balance from the kick. He landed on top of them and held them on the ground while he got some solid jab in against their head and then got his hands around their neck. He could hear Michael’s grunts behind him, fighting two more from the sound of it. He heard even more people beyond them. How many cultists were in here, anyway? Surely more than the original half dozen…</p><p>Michael cried out as his headlamp started to flicker, and Gerry saw his glowsticks fly across the room, thrown by one of his opponents. Gerry leapt off the cultist and reached out for Michael. If their last light went out and they couldn’t find each other…</p><p>Michael’s hand connected with his, clearly thinking the same. </p><p>“We’re surrounded,” he whispered.</p><p>“We’ll have to make a break for it.” Gerry responded.</p><p>Michael yelped as something connected with his leg and Gerry could hear a scuffle. Gerry thrust out with his knife, attempting to keep the others at bay. Michael released his hand, but stayed close.</p><p>“Let me count down,” Michael panted. “And then we go!”</p><p>“Okay!” Gerry responded. His knife had connected with the cultist, who was screaming and scratching at his face now. </p><p>“1”</p><p>Gerry felt hot blood on his hand and wondered if it was his own or his opponent’s.</p><p>“2”</p><p>Michael choked on the number, taking a blow to the face. Gerry would swear he could hear his teeth rattle. </p><p>“3!”</p><p>There was a deep, loud crack and suddenly the room was flooded with light.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Not trusting her ability to navigate through the inside of the building with her lone remaining torch, Sasha ran around the block to the back entrance, frantically pushing past the increasing stream of people leaving work for the day. She turned into an alley and faced the loading dock at the back of the building, considering. There was a fire door, which, once she ran to it and tugged, she found was firmly locked. No surprise there. There was also a big wooden door at the top of a ramp. She pushed, pulled, and banged on it, all to no avail. She slumped against it, letting out a cry of frustration. She could hear raised voices and the bangs of hand-to-hand combat coming muffled from the other side. Gerry and Michael were capable, sure, but who knew how many were in there, especially with that thing that had attacked her in the front room. If only she could get in there, or better yet, let in some of this copious sunlight…</p><p>Sasha’s brain lit up with a memory from 40 minutes earlier: the idling delivery truck! She had literally just passed it again to run back here! She scrambled to her feet and sprinted back the way she’d come. There it was, empty and running, with <i>Outer Bay Shipping</i> printed on the side. Sasha cheered and jumped in the passenger seat. </p><p>It took her a minute to get used to maneuvering it, and then another to position it at the bottom of the ramp, but once she did, she took a deep breath, checked her seat belt, and floored it.</p><p>The truck squealed as the tires struggled for a second to get traction, but then they caught and Sasha was rumbling down the alley picking up speed. She started honking the horn, loud and quickly, to give as much warning to Gerry and Michael (and anyone hanging out in the alley) as possible. She was worried about the turn onto the ramp, but took it as tight as she could and made it up with a decent amount of her speed left. With a deep crack—and a furious yell from Sasha—the front of the truck broke through the wood of the door and sunlight poured into the warehouse. </p><p>The force of the crash knocked Sasha’s head into the steering wheel, and she clutched it as she dizzily looked around, squinting into the corners of the room. But it was empty, with only Gerry and Michael standing back to back, weapons out, looking like they whoever they had been fighting had vanished. They looked at each other, then at Sasha, then broke into identical grins. </p><p>Sasha leaned out the window. “Did one of you fellas call an Uber?” she called out. They ran to the truck and slid onto the bench seat next to her as she backed it down the ramp (amazingly, it seemed largely unharmed) and pulled out into the street. </p><p> </p><p>“That was amazing,” Michael gushed as Sasha drove them back to the Institute and Gerry nodded enthusiastically, looking impressed. </p><p>“It really was. Thinking under pressure is one of the hardest things to learn, and you and Michael seem to be naturals at it.”</p><p>“Aw, babe.” Michael gave Gerry a soft look, which he returned. </p><p>“Adorable,” Sasha said dryly, but she was grinning. Michael stuck his tongue out at her. </p><p>“So what happened after we got split up?” he asked. “Were you able to get out without any fighting?”</p><p>“No, actually. Right around the time your fight began, some creepy shadow creature attacked me. It pulled off my coat and flung it in that weird puddle; it actually looked like it sank, somehow? But I got out fine.”</p><p>Michael looked worried. “Are you sure? Maybe it hurt you and you haven’t noticed yet because of the adrenaline? I’m so sorry we got separated! I swear, I only turned around for a second to—”</p><p>“No guilt!” Sasha said, taking a hand off the steering wheel to tug one of his curls. “If I’m going to be Gertrude’s replacement, I have to get used to all of this, don’t I?”</p><p>She glanced at Gerry and it was her turn to look guilty. “Er, sorry about that, Gerry; I still don’t know why she is planning on suggesting me and not you.”</p><p>Michael started laughing and Gerry rolled his eyes at him. “Don’t worry about it, Sash, there are a lot of reasons. Good and less good. And I don’t envy you.”</p><p>Sasha shrugged. “Eh, I’m already stuck here, I might as well be the boss, right?”</p><p>Gerry looked skeptical, but turned his attention to Michael, who was still giggling. “Okay, me as the Archivist isn’t that funny.”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” said Michael, wiping actual tears from his eyes. “I’m just trying to imagine you as Ms. Robinson. Sitting impatiently through people’s statements. Wearing cardigans. Calling people by their full names in that stern voice she does. Having a lifelong soul bond with a fire lesbian.”</p><p>Gerry gave him a playful shove. “I could do… some of those things!”</p><p>Sasha grinned. “Okay, but tell me more about the fire lesbian thing. Am I assigned my own upon promotion, or…?”</p><p>Michael burst into another fit of giggles, burying his face in Gerry’s shoulder. </p><p>“Ignore him,” Gerry said fondly, in response to Sasha’s raised eyebrows. “He gets like this sometimes after a fight.”</p><p>“Ooh! Oohoohooh!” Michael grabbed Gerry’s arm. “You know what we need to do?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Go out for ice cream! It’s the done thing after someone’s first Entity fight! It’s a tradition!”</p><p>Gerry gave Michael a skeptical look. “A tradition?”</p><p>“Plus, it’s not like I really did anything; you two did all the work!” Sasha had come around to being a little bit envious of them again. </p><p>“Are you kidding?? In my first fight, I got kidnapped and Gerry had to rescue me! All I did was drive the car! You’re doing that AND you rescued us.” Michael looked thoughtful. “You deserve two ice creams, really.”</p><p>“All right, I’m convinced,” Sasha responded. “Gerry, how do you feel about skiving off the rest of the afternoon?”</p><p>Gerry laughed.</p><p>“Then it’s settled. Tell me where, Michael.”</p><p>Michael cheered.</p><p> </p><p>Half an hour later they were sitting around a table licking their ice creams in the late afternoon sunshine, rehashing the most exciting moments of their mission. Sasha hadn’t known what to expect when Gertrude had asked her how she’d feel about leaving archive storage and training to replace her as head archivist, particularly after a worried Michael and Gerry brought her home to walk her through a terrifying tapestry (literally, they’d made the “murder board” a permanent installation in their flat) of monsters and fears. But this… this was kind of cool. She figured it would probably be okay if it was going to be like this. </p><p>“Listen,” she said, as Michael finished reenacting taking down Gerry’s assailant just in time. “I wanted to say thank you. You two didn’t have to take the time and energy to do this for me. I could have gone into this job cold and figured everything out on my own.” She caught Gerry’s dark look at those words and Michael gently nudge him and take his hand. </p><p>“Of course,” Michael answered for them both. “I wouldn’t let anyone go into this without knowing, especially you!”</p><p>“Still. I appreciate it.”</p><p>“And we appreciate having you.” Gerry’s voice was uncharacteristically sincere. “Really, Sash, I think we can do some really good with you in charge. </p><p>Michael raised his spoon solemnly. “To Sasha,” he said. “Future-head-archivist extraordinaire!”</p><p>“To Sasha!” Gerry echoed, clicking his spoon against Michael’s</p><p>Sasha shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”</p><p>Michael narrowed his eyes at her and she rolled hers back. “To me!” she said, cheerily clinking her spoon against both of theirs.  She didn’t share their confidence, exactly, but she would do her best. And they’d been right… it was kind of fun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew! This was such a ride! When I started this fic I thought it might be 9K, maybe 10 or 11. Thank you for all the lovely encouragement; it really helped when I was feeling stuck and absolutely inspired me to write more :D</p><p>Also, uh. So when I went to write a nice little epilogue with the boys and Sasha having a fun little adventure, I did not mean to set it up for a sequel. And then I realized I totally set it up for a sequel. I'm going to work on some other WIP I have for a bit, but I will probably come back to this world and do something else with it at some point. I made it a series, so feel free to subscribe if you want to see some Archivist!Sasha and GerryMichael adventures!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are always deeply appreciated :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>